


How (Not) to Catch an Obstinate Marquess

by h34rt1lly (LILYisatig3r)



Series: Seiftis [2]
Category: Final Fantasy VIII
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Regency, F/M, Fluff and Humor, Humor, Regency Romance, Romance, Seiftis - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-31
Updated: 2016-03-16
Packaged: 2018-04-12 04:19:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 40,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4465229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LILYisatig3r/pseuds/h34rt1lly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lady Quistis Trepe's parents have given her six months to find a suitable husband. However, she has absolutely no desire to marry a man who can't see past her beauty. The Marquess of Balamb, Seifer Almasy, has been informed that he is now engaged to a woman he's never met. He'd much prefer to remain a bachelor forever. A chance encounter at Lady Hartley's ball leads them down a path neither one expected they'd ever be on. </p><p>Seiftis, Regency Era AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Men, Rocks, and Fire Caverns.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Both Quistis and Seifer receive news that neither one of them is happy to hear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome all of my readers, to 'How (Not) to Catch an Obstinate Marquess'! I recently read staceums' 'The Outlaw Knight' which is a Seiftis Western AU. I was inspired to write my own, since there are so few in the fandom and somehow, the original idea transformed into a Seiftis Regency Era AU.
> 
> This story is much more lighthearted than Black Swan, as well as more fun and humorous. If you're a fan of silly romance novels with a predictable plot, then you'll likely enjoy this story. I've taken much of the same aspects of Regency Era novels (such as the titles of the peerage and their hierarchy), and intermingled them with the world of the game. For reference, the popular gambling hall, Almack's, is now Aphorora's, the pub in Timber. Hessian boots which were often worn by members of nobility and those that were well-off, are now Estharian boots. Horses equal chocobos, etc.
> 
> Many thanks to Strings805 for beta-reading for me, as well as helping me brainstorm and flesh out some of the ridiculously fun ideas. I hope you guys enjoy reading this as much as I enjoy writing it, because it seriously is a blast. This story is rated explicit for what I hope would be rather obvious reasons, even if the first few chapters don't reflect that. If you've ever read a romance novel, you know what to expect.
> 
> The chapters will be titled with quotes from Pride and Prejudice, with game references that replace certain words. For example, this chapter comes from "What are men, compared to rocks and mountains?" Men, Rocks and Mountains = Men, Rocks, and Fire Caverns.
> 
> Last note, the first chapter features both Quistis and Seifer's POVs. That will not be the norm, as I prefer to stick to one POV per chapter.

"Are you even listening to me, Lady Trepe?"

Quistis Trepe, only daughter of Viscount and Viscountess Trepe, jumped in her seat and whirled around to face her suitor, who was looming over her with his hands on his hips.

"I-Of course I was, Your Grace. Please, don't stop on my account," she encouraged with a false smile plastered on her face.

Her suitor, the aging Duke of Dollet, beamed and tucked his graying hair behind his ear before he continued rambling on about how he'd saved so-and-so from drowning years ago, during the war. Quistis smiled politely throughout his story, trying to remember to chuckle and gasp at the right moments to convince the Duke that she was still paying attention to him.

She wasn't.

He was the fifth suitor this month. Her father was dedicated to finding her a man to marry, though she'd insisted each and every time—usually after seeing yet another failed candidate to the door—that she'd prefer not to marry a  _buffoon_ , and would be perfectly happy to remain single for the rest of her days.

As she was their sole child, her parents  _insisted_  on finding her a suitable match. In her opinion, they were more concerned that the title and their wealth go to  _someone_ , since as a woman, she couldn't inherit. Personally, she could care less whether anyone carried on the title of Viscount of Deling. Obviously, her father felt otherwise.

Quistis turned and gazed out the window at the landscape, trying to tune out the grating sound of the Duke's voice.

The day was perfect for riding and she longed to be out there, her hair flying free in the wind as she rode over the hills on her chocobo. By this point, even her least favorite book would be preferable to the company she was currently forced to endure.

She shifted in her seat uncomfortably in an attempt to adjust the corset she was wearing underneath her billowing silky, peach gown. Her handmaiden, Selphie, had tied it far too tight this morning—"Per your mother's instructions, m'lady."—and she felt like she was slowly asphyxiating, though whether that was entirely her corset's fault or the Duke's oppressive presence, she couldn't say.

After another minute of unsuccessfully trying to escape into her thoughts, Quistis decided that enough was enough and turned to the Duke, pressing her gloved hand to her forehead before interrupting him in mid-sentence. "Forgive me, Your Grace. I-I find that I do not feel like myself. I feel rather ill, actually. If it is alright with you, perhaps we can see each other another time?"

The Duke shot to his feet, his eyebrows furrowed in concern as he approached Quistis. "Why of course, Lady Trepe. I would never wish to keep you, if you are not feeling well. I will speak to your father about another meeting, yes?"

"Yes, that sounds wonderful. Until next time then, Your Grace," Quistis mumbled as she waved at Selphie, who was standing along the edge of the room. The brunette scurried over and helped Quistis rise to her feet, ushering her towards the door.

They left the Duke behind in the sitting room and entered the main hall, heading towards the massive mahogany staircase that led up to the living quarters. The lengthy stairs were flanked by lofty, dark wood-paneled walls that rose above them to connect with the exposed trusses that her father had had specially designed for their home, when they'd taken it over from her grandfather.

As members of the peerage, Viscount Trepe was rather well-off, and Trepe Manor displayed that wealth quite ostentatiously. The main hall was decorated extravagantly and most days, her father's exhibition of their overabundance of money disgusted Quistis. Today was no different. He'd likely asked the maids to spruce up the main hall to impress the Duke, though why he bothered was beyond Quistis. From the moment she'd met the man, she knew without a doubt that he would  _not_ be the one she'd marry.

Of course, her father could only continue to hope that she'd choose the man of the day as her intended.

The door to the sitting room opened behind them and for good measure, Quistis trailed her hand along the graciously lacquered decorative table against the wall, pretending to use it as additional support while avoiding the gaudy vase that had been placed in the center.

 _That wasn't there this morning_ , she thought, annoyed at her father. Where he kept pulling these extra bits of decoration from was the question of the day—no, the  _month_.

Selphie guided her up the steps and when they were halfway up, they heard their butler, Biggs, speaking to the Duke before he showed him out. Once the thud of their colossal front door echoed throughout the room, signifying the Duke's exit, Selphie whispered, "Are you really feeling unwell, m'lady?"

The corner of Quistis' lips curled upwards as she replied, "No, I'm perfectly fine. However, if I had to listen to another hour of that man prattling on about absolutely nothing, I really  _might_ have been ill."

The girls giggled quietly to themselves as they stepped up to the second floor, and traipsed down the hall to Quistis' room. After they entered and Selphie shut the door behind her, Quistis pivoted on her heel, facing her handmaiden head-on. She pulled her elbow-length gloves off and tossed them onto the bed as she said, "Will you get my riding gear? I wish to head out for a quick jaunt."

"Right now, m'lady? I imagine your father will wish to speak with you, after you sent the Duke a'runnin' so quickly," Selphie observed.

Quistis waved her hand in the air dismissively before pulling the pins from her chignon, causing her golden hair to fall down in waves around her face. "I will deal with my father later." She turned and reached up, unbuttoning her dress as she insisted, "Hurry! I want to get out the door before he finds out I sent the Duke away."

A grin spread across Selphie's face as she hurried over to the wardrobe, yanking out a pair of slightly worn, brown leather riding breeches, paired with a cream, linen doublet. Quistis tugged her dress up and over her head, tossing it along with her now-unlaced corset to the floor, and grabbed her garments from Selphie.

Ladies generally wore a doublet over a skirt for their riding habits, but Quistis disliked the constricting feel of so much fabric around her legs. She always felt like she was drowning in material, and men's breeches allowed her to ride much more efficiently. Plus, the sight generally sent her father into a conniption, which was an amusing thing to witness.

Quickly, she re-dressed and raced back out into the hallway, making sure to grab her riding gloves on her way out. Selphie shut the door with a quiet thump behind them, before following right on Quistis' heels as they hastily made their way down the stairs. Quistis kept her hand poised above the railing and when they reached the bottom, she grabbed onto the balustrade's curved ornament and swung herself around, heading down the hall towards the kitchens.

The fastest way to the stables—as well as the only way to avoid passing by her father's study, which was right across the hall from the sitting room—was through the galley and out the side door.

Unfortunately, her father must've caught wind of the Duke's premature departure and when she was halfway through her turn around the stairs, the door to his study opened, slamming against the wall behind it. Both she and Selphie jumped into the air and Quistis swiveled around to face her father. Selphie bowed her head and shuffled into place behind Quistis as Viscount Trepe, his face red with anger, stalked up to his daughter.

"What in the  _world_  were you thinking, Quistis? Why would you send a  _Duke_  away?" he demanded.

"He was rather dull, Father.  _And_ old," Quistis replied in a no-nonsense tone of voice.

"At this point, you don't have many options left. The Duke of Dollet was one of the last available bachelors in the county. It was either marry him, or you'll end up a governess!" her father threatened.

"Perhaps I would prefer that," Quistis retorted, placing her hand on her hip.

"No daughter of mine, a  _Trepe_ , will become someone's  _governess_ ," Viscount Trepe spat. He jabbed a finger into Quistis' face before continuing, "You will marry someone within the next six months Quistis, or I will choose a husband for you. Lady Hartley's ball is in a fortnight. I expect you to go and actually  _socialize_. At least  _try_  to find a man who can put up with you long enough to propose. Though with that get-up that you're wearing, they might have a hard time even seeing that you are, in fact, a  _lady_."

With that, her father whirled around and retreated into his study, pulling the door shut so hard that the paintings on the walls rattled. Quistis stood frozen in the hallway, her chest heaving and her fists clenched at her side.

Selphie gently laid a hand on her friend's shoulder and murmured, "I'll go tell Irvine to get Boko ready for you," before rushing down the hall into the kitchen.

Once she was alone, Quistis pressed the heel of her palm against her eyes, willing herself to calm down. There was no doubt that her father was a strict man, and he was prone to occasional bouts of ill-temper yes, but this was the first time he'd given her an actual  _deadline_. Six months to find a suitable husband would normally be more than enough for the daughter of a Viscount—especially with the start of the season so near— but Quistis was...Quistis.

She was headstrong, independent, and she refused to marry a man who was incapable of accepting  _her_  as  _his_  equal. Many of her past suitors simply wanted a beautiful woman to stand beside them as their wife, without voicing her opinion or disagreeing with him on anything, and that wasa wife she knew she could not be.

It was naive to wish to marry for love, she knew that. Even her own parents hadn't, and many members of the peerage rarely did. She couldn't help that feeling in the bottom of her heart, though. She wanted her husband to desire her, to want her for  _her_ , and to not have to hide who she really was. She wanted to experience the ripple of nerves in her abdomen when he courted her, when she felt their bare skin touch for the first time. She wanted him to look into her eyes and profess his undying love for her when he asked for her hand.

Selphie teased that she read too many novels, and she was probably right.

Lowering her hand, she clenched her jaw and pivoted on her heel, walking through the kitchen with her head held high, though she knew most of the staff had likely heard her father's tirade. She pushed open the door that led onto the grounds and was met with the comforting sight of her saffron-feathered mount, Boko, saddled and ready to ride.

Her father had thrown a tantrum about Boko's name as well, insisting she name him something more "lady-like", like Buttercup or Daisy. However, in her favorite romantic novel, the hero-knight's chocobo was dubbed Boko, and she had a certain fondness for the slightly laughable name. At her father's reaction, she'd rolled her eyes and declared her chocobo officially named, just to spite him.

Irvine, their stablemaster, stood beside the chocobo, reins in hand. When Quistis trudged across the way towards him, kicking up dirt in her wake, he held out the reins and she smiled at him gratefully as she took them, before slipping her foot into the stirrup and swinging herself up into the saddle.

Irvine turned around and ruffled the feathers of Boko's neck before saying, "Selphie told me what happened. Will you be alright riding on your own, m'lady? Anger makes people do stupid things."

Quistis shifted in her saddle and replied, "Thank you for your concern Irvine, but I will be fine. Anything is better than being here right now."

"Very well," he acquiesced, tipping his hat to her before he stepped backwards. "Enjoy your ride, m'lady, and be safe, hm?"

Quistis nodded and smiled in reassurance, before squeezing her thighs around Boko and snapping the reins. They took off for the fields, leaving a cloud of dust behind them.

They passed underneath the manor's stone archway and she leaned forward in the saddle, urging Boko to ride faster, her mind racing. Her father could insist—no, command—her to marry all he wanted, but in the end, she was her own person. She refused to comply and if a governess was what she was meant to be in life, then she would do so with grace.

She  _would not_  give in.

* * *

"What the bloody hell are you on about, you old bastard?"

Seifer Almasy, Marquess of Balamb, planted his hands against his father's desk and leaned forward, his eyebrows low over his bright cyan eyes. Normally, his countenance was rather mischievous, with a permanent smirk planted firmly in place. Now however, his expression was filled with unbridled anger.

About five minutes ago, his father, Cid Kramer—or the Duke of Balamb to most—had called him into his office, expressing the urgent need to speak with his adopted son. Of all the things he thought his father could've said, what had eventually come out of the Duke's mouth was not at all what he'd expected. He'd  _expected_  to be berated for visiting Aphorora's so often, or for sowing his oats a tad bit too much. But  _this_?

He knew he should've slept in today.

Cid sighed as he folded his hands in his lap and stared up at his son. His difficult, occasionally obnoxious, unrelentingly obstinate, adopted son. He also chose to ignore the insult, seeing as how his son's vocabulary tended to be rather colorful anyway.

"General Caraway and I have come to an agreement. You are now engaged to his daughter, Miss Rinoa Caraway," Cid repeated.

"This is absurd! Me, engaged to a woman I have never even met? Are you mad? What if she's a unsightly wench with a hooked nose?" Seifer exclaimed.

"Seifer, arranged marriages are more common than you think. And she doesn't have a hooked nose, I've met Rinoa. She's rather beautiful, if I do say so myself," Cid attempted to reassure his son.

"Fine, what if she has an aggravating personality? I can't be married to a woman who nags me, day and night," Seifer insisted as he stared down his nose at his father, arms crossed tightly over his chest.

"At least wait until you meet her  _before_  forming an opinion about her. Give the poor girl a chance. She'll be at Lady Hartley's ball in a fortnight," Cid pressed in an attempt to convince Seifer.

"Oh, is she  _really_? Then I'm not going," Seifer sneered.

At that, Seifer's mother, Edea, stepped up beside her husband and laid a hand on his shoulder. "Seifer, dear. Please don't be difficult. This is for the best! You're turning thirty this year and it's about time you...settled down, don't you think?"

Seifer shifted in place, rocking his weight from one foot to the other. He always felt uncomfortable when his mother mentioned marriage, settling down, or his rather...frequent interaction with the fairer sex. "Thirty is hardly  _old_ , Mother. I'm nowhere near decrepit, nor do I plan on using a cane any time soon."

"It's old for a  _Marquess_ , dearest. Especially one as handsome as you," Edea stated, a gentle smile on her lips to lessen the verbal blow.

Seifer rolled his eyes. His mother's charm was neverending and he wasn't surprised that she had half the ton under her thumb—of course, that included her own husband and son. He glanced back at her and the gentle smile hadn't gone anywhere, which meant she was just waiting for him to agree and do as she wished.

He was a man, damn it, and he wouldn't give in!

As he continued to gaze into her warm eyes, her smile started to fade and a fresh wave of guilt swept over him. He couldn't, in good conscience, be the cause of his mother's happiness diminishing now, could he?

With a groan, he said, "Very well, I'll go. But I'll hate  _every second_  of it, I can promise you that."

Cid waved his hand in the air dismissively as he stood and replied, "Nonsense, son. It won't be  _that_  bad, you'll see! In fact, your mother and I—"

Seifer grumbled his displeasure and turned to leave in the middle of his father's sentence, the heels of his Estharian boots digging into the plush rug. It wasn't until his fingers were wrapped around the handle of the door that the Duke spoke again.

"Seifer...you  _do_ promise to show, don't you?" Cid called out to his son.

Seifer paused, his fingers squeezing the handle as he hesitated for a second. He schooled his expression into something more neutral before he faced his parents again. From between clenched teeth, he stated, "Of course, Father. I said I would, didn't I?"

His parents nodded at him in approval and he pulled the door open, stepping out into the main room of Kramer Hall. His boots snapped against the polished floors as he stalked over to the stairs leading up to the second floor. As he climbed, he frantically undid the cuffs of his dress shirt, tugging out his pressed cravat shortly after.

The only reason he was in full dress all the time was because someone of his station called for it. If Seifer had his way, he'd be in a loose linen shirt and casual trousers. Something that would let him  _breathe_. In his opinion, full dress was stifling. It was...evidence of the oppressive nature of the ton—evidence that had hovered over him his entire life. It was his  _entitlement_.

He hated it.

If one turned left at the top of the staircase, the door to his room stood at the end of the hall, while his parents' suite lay on the opposite end of the house. It was his room that he headed for now as he unbuttoned his waistcoat, his movements clumsy and uncoordinated due to the irritation he felt at being commanded around, like he was some...some  _dog._

"Raijin! Raijin, I need you!" Seifer bellowed down the hall.

Shortly after the sound of his voice faded, the door to his room opened and a tall man with russet skin stepped out into the hall, bowing to Seifer with his hands behind his back. "You called for me, my lord?"

"Yes, I did. Fetch me my black dress clothes. I'm going to Aphorora's," Seifer commanded as he waltzed into his room and tossed his waistcoat to the floor.

Curse Aphorora's for requiring full dress at all times. It was a gambling hall for Hyne's sake, why couldn't the men just appear in their nightclothes? Who  _cared_?

Raijin stooped to pick up the discarded vest off the ground and placed it on a hanger, tucking it back into the armoire against the wall. He pulled out a shimmering, onyx waistcoat with intricate line work tracing across it, lifting it up in front of his body as he faced Seifer again. "This one, my lord? I find that it looks rather eye-catching against your fair hair, you know?"

Seifer glanced at it out of the corner of his eye before doing a double-take. "That one will do. I haven't worn it in some time," he approved, lifting his arms up and out for Raijin.

"Why are you in such a hurry to head to Aphorora's, my lord? Weren't you just there the other night?" Raijin questioned as he pulled the vest off the hanger and raised it onto Seifer's shoulders.

Once Seifer had adjusted the vest so that it lay straight, Raijin traveled to the front of his body and buttoned it up, re-adjusting the cravat of Seifer's shirt. After that, came the pressed and ironed ebony jacket, equally as lustrous as the waistcoat. It might've been vain of him to say, but he was rather fond of wearing all black, as it made his vivid eye color and his light hair stand out all the more.

At the risk of sounding even  _more_ vain, this was a night he could gladly use a distraction. The more female attraction he garnered tonight, the better. After all, he was soon to become some privileged little  _princess'_  husband.

As his valet worked, he bitterly muttered, "Because, I've just found out I'm soon to be a groom. Might as well enjoy the freedom of being a bachelor, while I can."

Raijin chuckled under his breath and commented, "You, my lord? A dutiful, respectful husband? I can't see it, you know?"

"Neither can I," Seifer mumbled. "Hence, why I'm going to Aphorora's to get rip-roaring drunk, find myself a not-so reputable lady of the night to take to my townhouse, and face the music in the morning."

Raijin brushed the shoulders of the jacket off, indicating that he was finished working and Seifer whirled around, grabbing his hat from a nearby table. As he wrenched open the door, Raijin piped up and said, "Have a good time, my lord. I'll see you again in the morning."

"Will do, Rai. Go take the night off, hm? Take Fujin out somewhere nice or something," Seifer suggested with a lopsided grin.

Not only was Raijin his valet, but he was his friend. Much of his childhood was spent romping about the hillside with Raijin  _and_  Fujin, his mother's handmaiden. If Seifer was getting a lucky break tonight, then by golly, his friend deserved one as well.

Raijin chuckled with a nod and Seifer shut the door to his room, ambling down the hall for the staircase. He bounded down the stairs, his footsteps thudding throughout the room and the door to his father's study opened once more. Edea stepped out, spotting her son in full dress and frowned, already knowing where he was off to.

"Honestly, Seifer.  _Must_ you go tonight?" his mother implored, displeasure written all over her face.

He detoured over to his mother, placing a quick peck on her cheek before continuing towards the front door. He might've been unhappy with his parents' decision, but he never could hold a grudge against his mother. She didn't deserve it. However, that didn't mean he had to grovel at her feet for permission to go to Aphorora's whenever he felt like it. After all, as she'd said, he  _was_ nearly thirty.

Wedge, their butler, opened the door for his lord and as Seifer made his way outside, he called out over his shoulder, "I will return in the morning, Mother."

As they were members of the peerage, their family coach was rather flamboyant. The massive thing sat before him, comprised entirely of glossy black varnish, with their coat of arms placed square in the center of the door panel. Following the fashion of the rest of the decor, the coat of arms was painted in vivid shades of crimson and gold, and the eagle that was the focal point of their arms was featured prominently in the middle. Normally, he'd roll his eyes at the extravagant display, but he could use the added attention tonight.

Seifer heard his mother sigh right before the door shut behind him, and he raced over towards their stately coach. Now that he was outside, away from his parents' judging eyes, his face fell into a scowl. Another footman rushed ahead and opened the small door in the side of the vehicle, pulling down the steps for him. As Seifer looped his hand around the gilded guide rail and lifted himself inside the coach, his glower intensified.

Once he was settled on the opulent velour bench, he rapped his knuckles against the coach's velvet roof, signifying that he was ready to leave. As they set off for town, he glared at nothing in particular, his hands clenched into tight fists.

Vehemently, he vowed,  _Engaged, my arse. If I have a say in it, marriage will be the_ last _thing I do._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you enjoyed the silliness that is this chapter, I'd love to hear from you in a comment!


	2. Irrational Balls and Meetings in a Garden

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Seifer and Quistis end up at the same ball and their first encounter happens.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I normally put these at the end so as not to hinder your guys' reading experience, but I just have a couple of things to clarify.
> 
> I said last A/N that the story would likely not follow both of their POVs. However, after reading a new romance novel recently, I noticed that many of them do switch POVs, and quite frequently at that. From here on out, each chapter will probably feature a bit of both Seifer and Quistis' POVs, though I may focus more on one than the other, depending on the chapter.
> 
> Last, I am well aware that people generally refer to members of the peerage by their title, which usually has an extension. Marquess of Stoneville, Baron Whatever, etc. However, for the sake of me not confusing readers and picking obscure regions off of the game's world map, I'm going to stick with Marquess Almasy, Marquess Leonhart, Duke Kramer, etc. However, the rule with Christian (in this case, Hyne-given) names still stands and only people who are closely acquainted/familiar with one another have the right to call each other by name.

The ballroom was  _stifling_.

Quistis sat alone in the far corner by the buffet table, hiding behind a gilded room separator in an attempt to blend into the background as much as possible.

Lady Hartley had a rather large ballroom. Normally, it afforded her guests the luxury of forming individual groups in separate areas, allowing them some semblance of privacy. Tonight however, the room was packed to the brim and everyone was standing nearly shoulder-to-shoulder. Quistis had a hard time finding a group of ladies she could stomach for longer than five minutes and as a result, she'd ended up in the corner, alone.

Also, because of the sheer amount of people in the room, the air had turned humid and thick. Her skin had a light sheen of perspiration on it and she hadn't stopped fanning herself since the moment she'd arrived. What she wouldn't give to step outside for but a moment, but the prospect of a  _lady_  heading out into the night unchaperoned would likely send a wave of gossip sweeping through the ton.

Hence, why Quistis had ended up hiding in the corner.

A little belatedly, she realized that she was hungry. That was probably why she gravitated to the corner that was by the food—though she rarely indulged in the provided sustenance at balls; twisting and turning about the room with a full stomach generally made her feel nauseous. However, tonight, she had no intention of dancing with anyone.

Gliding over to the buffet, she reached out with the intent of swiping a small piece of fruit—one piece wouldn't hurt, right? When her fingertips had barely brushed against the smooth skin of a grape, a voice called out to her from behind, and she whirled around.

A flash of dark, chin-length hair caught her eye and when she focused on it, she realized her childhood friend, Xu, had emerged from the crowd, a smile on her face as she approached Quistis. She mirrored her friend's countenance and held her hands out in greeting.

Xu slid her hands into Quistis' grasp and they interlaced fingers as Xu noted, "I didn't think I'd see you here."

With a roll of her eyes, Quistis replied, "My father insisted that I come. I had no plans to originally, so I didn't think I'd see  _you_  either."

When Quistis mentioned Viscount Trepe, Xu grimaced and questioned, "Is he still pushing for you to marry sooner rather than later?"

"Pushing is  _most definitely_  the right term for it. He's given me six months to find a husband. Or else, he's threatened me with the  _deplorable_  life of a governess."

Xu giggled at that and said, "Oh dear...He clearly doesn't know you very well."

The humor in the situation faded and Quistis looked away, absentmindedly watching the couples dancing in the middle of the room. As she watched their graceful movements, she tried to staunch the jealousy that was forming in the pit of her stomach. In a soft voice, tinged with a hint of bitterness, she mumbled, "No, clearly not. How could he? He barely speaks to me as it is."

Xu frowned, her eyebrows lowering in concern as she tightened her fingers around her friend's. Quistis turned back to her and smiled reassuringly as the current song ended, and all the couples on the floor drifted back to the edges of the room.

Xu smiled at Quistis once more and in an attempt to reassure her, suggested, "Perhaps a dance will make you feel better?"

The blonde tried to smile in return but when it failed and ended up looking more like a grimace, opted for, "Perhaps. It's hard to dance when no one has asked you, though."

" _No one_? Are all the men in the room blind? They'd have to be, to not see  _your_  beauty," Xu exclaimed.

"It's not entirely that. I've been...avoiding the possibility all night. I haven't left this corner since I first arrived, so not many men have had a chance to ask, to be honest."

"Whyever have you been hiding?" Xu questioned.

With a resigned sigh, Quistis explained, "I thought I'd spite my father and refuse to dance with a single gentleman tonight. However, by this point in time, I've turned down offers of marriage from nearly every man in the room. I doubt any of them would  _want_  to dance with me on principle alone."

Xu raised her fingers and cradled Quistis' wrist in a comforting gesture. "You have standards, Quistis. That's not a bad thing."

"It is when your father wants to marry you off and officially make you someone else's problem," Quistis muttered.

Of course she resented her father for giving her a deadline. It wasn't fair of him to pressure her into making a decision that would affect the rest of her life, in only six months' time. However, in his own twisted point of view, she knew he was doing what he considered to be the best thing for her. Part of her begrudgingly appreciated that about her father, but the bigger part of her was still hurt that he was so anxious to simply...send her off.

It wasn't that she didn't wish to be married  _at all_. She just wanted it to happen under different circumstances; under her  _own_ circumstances.

A gentleman with glistening auburn hair appeared out of nowhere and bowed to Quistis and Xu, who curtsied in return. When he held out his hand to them, he must've recognized Quistis from reputation alone because at the last second, he swiveled his arm towards Xu instead. "May I have this dance, my lady?"

Xu glanced at Quistis, her face twisted up in an apology for the gentleman's obvious snub. Quistis smiled at her friend to indicate that she was alright and whispered, "Go. Have fun!"

The gentleman took that as a sign of approval and tugged on Xu's hand, leading her out to the center of the ballroom. Xu glanced back over her shoulder at Quistis and mouthed 'forgive me'.

Quistis smiled in reassurance and watched as the couples on the floor lined up across from one another, in traditional form. Someone beside her cleared their throat and she turned to face them, surprised to see a familiar gentleman.

"Baron Dincht!" Quistis exclaimed, folding her leg underneath her in a curtsy.

Baron Dincht, better known as Zell to his close friends, bowed with a jovial smile on his face. "Lady Trepe. It's been some time since I've had the great pleasure of seeing you—at a  _ball_ , nevertheless."

A quiet chuckle left Quistis as she replied, "Indeed it has. You've been abroad in Timber, have you not?"

"For some time, yes. I've just returned and heard tale of the ball tonight. Decided to make an appearance at the last second, per a friend's request."

"Balamb is quite far from Deling. When did you return?" Quistis asked.

Zell waved his hand in the air in dismissal and responded, "A week ago. I arrived in town this morning."

After Zell had spoken, the conductor of the orchestra tapped his baton to signal the start of the next set. Out of nowhere, Zell held out his hand and Quistis glanced down at it in astonishment.

"Baron Dincht...what…?" she trailed off uncertainly.

"This dance, may I have it?" he asked in a rush.

"I—"

"Come now, Quisty. You act as if you haven't known me for years. Come on, let's get you out there!" Zell insisted, grabbing her hand and pulling her out onto the ballroom floor as the couples began to dance.

They stepped into line, stumbling a bit before they fell into timing with the rest of the group. Quistis laughed in amusement as they were so obviously out of place in the beginning. To her surprise, it was a genuine, full laugh. Not the short, pretend laughter she'd been offering to people as of late.

"That's the Quistis I know," Zell commented in a quiet voice as he twirled her around.

Quistis smiled up at him, grateful for her friend's attempt at cheering her up. "Thank you...Zell. I...I cannot even begin to express how you came to my rescue tonight."

With a lopsided grin, Zell replied, "That's me: always here to help you crack a smile."

She chuckled and they were silent for the rest of the dance, enjoying each other's company and the freedom of the movement.

Once the music had ended, Zell escorted her back to the edge of the dance floor, though not in her previous corner. Quistis had lost sight of Xu and when Zell moved to step away, she wrung her fingers, suddenly anxious to be standing in full-view of the entire room. As if he sensed that she was alone, he halted in mid-step and retreated, standing beside her again. He folded his arms in front of him and leaned over, staring up into her face. "Quistis, are you alright?" he questioned.

"Y-Yes, I am. I was standing with Lady Xu earlier but...I can't see her now," she mumbled.

"I can stand with you until she returns, if you wish," he offered.

"No, no that's alright. I'll be fine. Go! Enjoy the ball! You've been away for so long, I'm sure you want to dance with others," she insisted.

He stared up at her in concern, his eyebrows furrowed, before he finally inclined his head in an informal bow and moved away from her, disappearing back into the crowd. Once he was gone, Quistis sighed and gave up on trying to find her friend. She glanced to her left and did a double-take, realizing that Zell had dropped her off right by a door leading out to one of the balconies.

A slow smile spread out across her face when she realized that he'd offered to dance with her so that he could do exactly this: drop her off by her freedom. Though their circumstances had kept them apart for the past few years, he really did still know her quite well.

He'd been one of her closest acquaintances when they'd been younger, before he'd left for Balamb Garden—one of the three schools that boys of the gentry attended at the age of nine. In addition to that, Quistis' grandfather had passed away around that time, and her father had taken over the title of Viscount; shortly after, they'd moved to Deling.

Quistis and Zell had corresponded by letter frequently after he'd first left, though as they got older, their lives had gotten in the way and the letters had slowed. She hadn't heard from him since he'd graduated from Garden and left for Timber.

_Thank you, Zell_.

With a quick glance around the room to ensure no one would see her, she reached over and pushed the balcony door open, wincing as it creaked slightly before it fell silent. Sliding her foot over, she squeezed through the small opening, tugging her skirts roughly when the frills got caught on a loose nail in the doorframe. Once she was outside, the door shut with a soft click.

* * *

Seifer watched the couples spin in circles around the room, a scowl planted firmly on his face. He didn't want to be here, and he sure as hell wasn't going to ask anyone to dance.

From across the room, he caught his mother's stern glare and shifted in place, looking away from her accusing eyes. She knew very well that he wasn't making an effort, but it wasn't as if he had promised to ask anyone to  _dance_. He'd only promised to  _show up_.

He glanced back up at his parents and that was when he spotted a woman in a powder-blue dress that was adorned with multiple layers of frilly white silk, approaching them. Her hair was pinned up in place by pearly ornaments that twisted the ebony, silky strands into an intricate design. He narrowed his eyes at her, suspecting he knew  _exactly_  who she was.

Edea locked eyes with her son and waved him over, insisting that he come join them on the other side of the room. Seifer let out a resigned sigh and walked along the edge of the room, making his way over to his parents. Once he stood beside them, he placed a gentle kiss on his mother's cheek before bowing to the lady in the blue dress. When he straightened, he met her eyes and begrudgingly admitted that yes, she was rather beautiful.

Still didn't mean he wanted to  _marry_ her, though.

Edea reached up and placed a hand on her son's upper arm, urging, "Seifer, introduce yourself."

He resisted the urge to roll his eyes at his mother and bowed again, this time stating, "It is a pleasure to meet you, Miss Caraway. I am Marquess Almasy, of Balamb."

The woman curtsied in return, a small smile lifting the corners of her rosy pink lips. "You know my name already! I'm surprised. It's nice to finally meet you, my lord."

Cid waved his hands at the two and said, "Go, dance! Get to know each other!"

Seifer sighed under his breath and held out his arm for his intended, who looped her gloved hand through the crook of his elbow, laying her hand on his forearm. He led her away from his parents, but rather than heading towards the middle of the ballroom, he pulled her towards one of the balconies that lined the outer edge of the room.

"My lord, where are we—"

Seifer interrupted her and explained, "I don't feel like dancing right now. Let's just go talk, hm? Get to know each other as my wonderful parents suggested?"

If Miss Caraway had known Seifer for longer than just a few seconds, she would've known that he was being highly sarcastic. At the moment, 'wonderful' was not a word he'd use to describe the two spawns of the devil that were masquerading as his parents. Parents wouldn't subject their children to forced marriages, no matter how attractive their intended may be.

Seifer glanced out of the corner of his eye at Miss Caraway, who was smiling up at him.  _Well, at least she doesn't have a hooked nose. That's some sort of relief, I suppose._

They reached the doorway to the balcony and Seifer held it open, leading Miss Caraway through the opening and out into the night.

* * *

After Quistis had stepped out onto the balcony, escaping from the crowded ballroom, she'd wandered over to the stone railing that lined the precipice, leaning over the edge and gazing out on Lady Hartley's gardens below.

As she admired the beautiful sight before her, she inhaled deeply, grateful to be breathing in the cool, refreshing air as opposed to the stuffy air inside. It was also blissfully quiet outside; the only sound that Quistis could hear was the light chirping of crickets in the distance.

The Hartleys were well-known in the ton for having a well-manicured, detailed maze in their gardens. Now that she had the opportunity to see it in person, she had to say that the rumors were most definitely right—for once. From above, she could trace the path throughout the maze, from beginning to end. In the very center of the maze, lay a prize for the wanderer who was brave enough to venture inside.

A massive, marble fountain stood in the deepest part of the maze, surrounded by a plethora of colorful blossoms. Lanterns were posted along the inner edge of the centermost sanctuary. Though the flames were enclosed, Quistis couldn't help but wonder if the Hartley's were even worried that their maze could set on fire. After all, accidents could happen. She sincerely hoped that The Hartleys' groundskeeper was assigned to keep a close eye on the gardens, for that very reason.

She sighed and wrapped her arms around herself, rubbing her gloved hands along the exposed skin of her upper arms. The stars were hard to see from the balcony, much to her disappointment. The mansion was far too lit up tonight, due to the ball.

It was unfortunate, really. If the mansion had been completely dark, it would have been quite the view.

Quistis lowered her eyes, her gaze falling back down to the railing in front of her, though she wasn't exactly focused on staring at it. Now that she was no longer surrounded by the incessant chattering of people, her mind was at rest enough that it began to wander. Inevitably, her thoughts returned to her predicament regarding her impending marriage—though whether it was to an actual groom, in the flesh, or to a life of books and lessons, she couldn't yet say.

Was it truly too much to ask? To want a man who not only thought she was beautiful, but wished to get to know her  _beyond_  that? A man who actually enjoyed her company and her wit enough to marry her—despite her strong opinions and slightly unorthodox views on...well, everything. Every man was drawn to her face, but as soon as she attempted to hold a conversation with one, they either shied away at her forward personality or insulted her and turned tail.

She was just a painting, an ornament who would end up on some lucky man's wall.

Tears welled up in her eyes and, frustrated at her uncharacteristic display of emotion, Quistis brushed aside the moisture streaming down her cheeks in frustration.

She'd only been standing outside for a few minutes when she heard the door open again behind her. Whirling around, she spotted a blond gentleman with a raven-haired beauty in tow, making their way out onto the balcony.

_Oh Hyne-forbid. What is this, the only balcony?_

Frantically, she glanced around the patio and realized that the door they'd just stepped through, served as the only entrance  _and_  exit. She couldn't very well dive off the balcony to the gardens below. She'd likely break her neck and though there was some relief at the fact that she wouldn't have to find a husband then, it was greatly overshadowed by the fact that she'd be  _dead_.

Spotting a potted fern, she dove behind the greenery and pulled her skirts tighter around her legs, trying to avoid being seen. Though it was a slim chance that this particular gentleman could be acquainted with her father, the chance still existed. She knew she'd never hear the end of it if word got back to him about her hiding out on the balcony, during a ball—especially one where she was supposed to be trying to find a husband.

The couple wandered over to the very same balcony she'd been leaning against only moments before, and the gentleman leaned on his elbow casually, as he smiled down at the woman who was obviously enjoying his charms.

_Oh for the love of...this could be some time…_

* * *

Seifer smiled down at Miss Caraway politely and started the conversation with, "So Miss Caraway, you and your father live here in Deling?"

For some reason, at the mention of her father, Miss Caraway's smile tightened and she replied, "I  _used_  to live here. I'm staying in Timber now, with a cousin. However, during the season, I return to Deling and stay with my father."

"I see. Why Timber?" Seifer questioned.

"My mother's family is from Timber. I have many childhood memories there, and it's really quite gorgeous. Have you ever been? If you haven't, I'd highly suggest you—"

Seifer interrupted the lady, worried that if he let her continue, she'd talk the entire night. "I have, yes. Once or twice. It is beautiful indeed."

Miss Caraway smiled at the compliment to her current town of habitance and prompted, "What about you, Marquess Almasy? Do you reside in Balamb, like your title dictates?"

"I do."

At his lack of offering personal information, Miss Caraway faltered as she tried to find a new subject to choose in order to carry on the conversation. Seifer shifted uncomfortably as they stood there in silence, and he broke eye contact, gazing down at the maze below the balcony.

_Impressive. Hyne, it's not a good sign if I've only been speaking to the lady for a total of ten minutes and already my attention is wavering._

Miss Caraway spoke softly, pulling Seifer's attention back to her. "You...You don't want to marry me...do you, my lord?"

"I never said that, Miss Caraway. I simply...I have no desire to marry  _at all_. It has nothing to do with you," he explained.

"I see. Is there anything I can do to change your mind? To...To help you like me more? Enjoy my company more?" she questioned.

Seifer knew she meant well but the tone of her questions made it sound like she was begging and it set his nerves on edge. Without meaning to, he snapped, "No. Let's talk about something else other than our impending marriage, please."

Miss Caraway's warm brown eyes fell to the ground and she fiddled with her hands, avoiding meeting his gaze. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to pry."

"You didn't. I just would rather talk about something else," Seifer responded. With a sigh, he continued on to ask, "What do you enjoy doing in your free time, Miss Caraway?"

"Rinoa."

Seifer glanced at the woman, his eyebrows lowered in confusion. "Sorry?"

"My name—it's Rinoa. If we're to be husband and wife someday, you should be familiar with calling me by my given name, right? Oh no, I've done it again. I'm so sorry. You just finished saying that you had no desire to speak about our marriage and I've gone and insinuated just that. Forgive me, Lord Almasy."

Seifer blinked at her in shocked silence. She'd managed to do exactly what he'd just asked her  _not_  to do,  _and_  broken custom by calling him something other than his actual title—all within fifteen seconds. He opened his mouth to speak, only to be struck with the realization that he had absolutely no idea what to say. A fresh wave of frustration swept over him and he closed his mouth with a snap, afraid he'd say something he didn't mean.

Finally, when he felt that he'd contained his sudden moodswing, he settled for, "I think...I think I should head back inside, Miss Caraway. I'm sure we'll see each other again soon."

With that, he pivoted sharply on his heel and strode over to the door, leaving Miss Caraway out on the balcony alone.

* * *

_Poor girl...he wasn't exactly the nicest gentleman, was he?_  Quistis remarked.

As soon as the door shut behind him, the woman who was apparently named Rinoa Caraway sprinted after him—well, as much as a lady in a billowing ball gown could sprint—and yanked the door open again, rushing back inside.

Quistis let out a long sigh and stepped out from behind the plant, smoothing her skirts. The peaceful environment of the balcony was now ruined and she was sure that if she tried to relax again, someone would just come and interrupt her once more. She glanced back inside, realizing that she no longer wished to be here. Granted, she hadn't in the first place, but now, she  _really_  wanted to go home.

Unfortunately, her father had thought ahead and the carriage would not be here to take her home until the ball had ended. By the looks of things, that wouldn't be for another few hours. She clenched her jaw and shifted her eyes to the right, spotting the maze again. With a quizzical tilt of her head, she admired the centermost part of the maze, thinking to herself how calming it looked.

Calming, peaceful...solitary.

With newfound determination, she spun around and rushed back inside.

Elbowing her way through the crowd, she made her way towards the front door and raced out onto the grounds, taking a hard right to head to the gardens. As she ran, she bundled her skirts up in her hands, gaining speed once her ridiculously enormous dress was no longer in the way.

Once she stood just in front of the maze's entrance, she rested her gloved hand against the pruned edge of the maze wall, trying to catch her breath. A quick glance over her shoulder revealed that no one had followed her outside, so she slid through the opening and disappeared into the bowels of the labyrinth.

Luckily, she'd memorized the path when she'd stared at it earlier, from the vantage point on the balcony.

She wound her way through the intricate walkways, trailing her fingers along the hedges as she turned blind corners in confidence. After roughly fifteen minutes, she could hear the gentle gurgle of the water in the fountain and smiled in anticipation. Soon after, she emerged in the center of the maze and froze in place, rocking back onto her heels.

The lustrous, ebony material of the back of a gentleman's tailcoat glistened in the dim glow of the lanterns that lined the clearing. His head was bowed, but she could see that he had blonde hair that was somewhat unconventional in length. The boots he wore were a clear indicator of his station, for the Estharian style was commonly shined to perfection. True to form, this man's boots were so glossy, she could practically see the reflection of the stars above on their onyx surface.

As if she'd forgotten how to greet members of the gentry, Quistis blurted out, "Who are  _you_?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to StarryNight101 and Strings805 for beta-reading :) 
> 
> Also, thanks to everyone who left kudos and subscribed, and to quistis for the comment! Appreciate all of the love!


	3. Handsome Enough to Tempt a Grendel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Seifer and Quistis have their first conversation. It goes rather well, until they're interrupted (of course).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you guys are unaware, a man and a woman were generally not allowed to be alone without a chaperone—it was considered highly improper. On top of that, having a conversation with someone without having been formally introduced prior to that conversation, was a huuuuge no-no. Just FYI ;)
> 
> Usual notes at the end. Enjoy!

The water inside the fountain's stone bowl rippled outwards with every additional drop that fell into its depths. Seifer watched the tiny waves roll across the liquid surface, trying and failing to keep his mind devoid of all negative thought. All he could hear were Miss Caraway's last words about their impending marriage.

Visions of the future flashed across his mind, of days where he'd lock himself in his study because he resented his wife for the mere fact that she  _was_  his wife; of times where she'd force him to attend balls and social gatherings that he'd rather not be present at; of times where she'd rail at him and scream for silly little things that he did or didn't do, like fold his socks just right—he didn't know whether claiming that was his valet's job would be a valid excuse for her.

Miss Caraway didn't seem like the type to buy into excuses.

He pulled at the hem of his tight-fitting dinner jacket and let out a long, strained sigh. Sometimes, life as a member of the peerage involved complications that Seifer would rather not have in his life. All he wanted was the ability to do whatever he wished, whenever he wished, without the oppressive presence of an authority figure over his head. Sadly, as a Marquess, that was simply not possible.

As these thoughts flitted across his mind, it was then that he heard the lilting, clear voice of a woman call out to him.

"Who are  _you_?"

His hackles rose at being addressed so informally; under normal circumstances, he wouldn't particularly care if he was addressed in such a way, considering most days he abhorred his title and all that came with it. However, even though he was currently cursing whoever created the peerage system, he was already irritated after being in Miss Caraway's presence, and that irritation transferred over to all further interactions with the female species.

Pivoting on his heel, he whirled around and shot the most intense glare he was capable of conjuring upon such short notice at the woman who was standing in the mouth of the sanctuary's entrance. However, when his eyes landed upon her and he actually took in her appearance, his glare quickly petered out and his mouth fell slightly open.

She was absolutely beautiful.

The first thing that caught his eye was her dress. It was made of iridescent peach fabric that was the palest shade he'd ever seen. When she shifted in place, the lights from the house above and behind her shone down onto the dress and caused it to shimmer, holding his attention rather aptly. The way the illustrious fabric clung to her feminine curves, accentuating her slender waist, rendered him speechless. In addition to that, her hair was breathtaking. It was the shade of spun gold, and the flaxen strands begged him to pull the pins out and run his fingers through the loose waves.

When he'd first turned around, a sharp retort had been ready on the tip of his tongue. Now that he'd laid eyes on her, the clever comment was nowhere to be found within his addled brain.

"I-I beg your pardon, madam?" Seifer managed to stutter.

The woman's eyes narrowed at him. They were the lightest shade of blue that Seifer had ever seen. In fact, the hue reminded him of the early morning sky, or of the brightest aquamarine with stunning clarity. He'd been gazing into them a little  _too_  intently and hadn't realized that she'd spoken. By the time he stumbled back into the now, she was almost finished with her sentence.

"—a lady," she snapped in response.

"I'm sorry?"

An exasperated sigh left her wonderful, deliciously plump lips and she repeated, "I am not a  _madam_ , I am a  _lady_. I will ask you again sir, who are  _you_?"

The indignation in her tone irked him once more and suddenly, he remembered why he'd been ready to fire an insult at her when he'd turned around. The color and tone of her words implied that she was either used to getting what she wanted when she asked for it, or that she at least  _felt_  self-important enough to have the ability to ask for things in such a way. This was a woman who made demands and held the other person  _to_ those demands; she did not fool around.

He straightened to his full height, adjusting his cravat as he retorted, "I am Marquess Almasy of Balamb. Take care with your tone, my  _lady_ , for you've yet to actually tell me who  _you_  are."

Her eyes widened in surprise for a brief, fleeting moment, until she schooled her expression into something more neutral. Seifer marveled at the fact that she was able to adjust to the unexpected situation so quickly; in fact, he was rather impressed, though he wouldn't admit that aloud.

In a more demure voice than before, she said, "My apologies, my lord. I've made an egregious error, for I was not aware of your title. I am Lady Trepe, daughter of Viscount Trepe, of Deling City," and finished with a deep, apologetic curtsy.

When she straightened, Seifer noticed that her lips were now set into a thin line. Before, they'd been able to hold his attention with their full, feminine appearance. Now however, it almost seemed as if she was forcing herself to remain polite. It confused him and threw him off balance. No matter how he tried, five minutes was not nearly enough time to accurately pin down Lady Trepe's true character.

* * *

_He's a Marquess. Of_ course  _he's a Marquess,_  Quistis thought bitterly.

She'd made an utter fool of herself to a member of the peerage and by Hyne, she did it rather well. Of all the things she could possibly excel at, on tonight of all nights…She hoped word of this wouldn't reach her father; he'd probably never let her leave the house now.

After she apologized, she'd straightened and averted her gaze, refusing to meet the Marquess' bright, overly-inquisitive eyes.

First of all, they were the most remarkable shade—one she swore she'd never had the pleasure of seeing before. They were a rare, demanding hue of blue, so vivid that she had trouble looking away from him. Within his cobalt irises, there were flecks of brilliant green. The mixture of the two shades caused his eyes to appear almost turquoise in color, and even here in the dim light of the garden, the color was stunning.

As if his eyes weren't enough of a gift to the world, the rest of his face was equally pleasing to the eye. The bridge of his nose was pin-straight, leading down to a slight upturn in the tip. He had strong, well-balanced nostrils and underneath his aristocratic nose, lay a pair of masculine, yet appealing lips. They weren't overly full and turned down slightly at the corners, but their size and shape was enough to hold her attention. Paired with his angular jaw and refined cheekbones, they were the perfect accent to his handsomeness.

What held her attention the most though, was the large, diagonal scar running across the center of his face. It started on his right cheek, just under his eye, and ran upwards over the bridge of his nose, ending halfway up his forehead. It was...intimidating to say the least, and incredibly out of place on a member of the peerage, or even the gentry. They generally had flawless countenances, and it was off putting to see something so...so  _rogue_ —on a  _Marquess'_  face, nonetheless.

Quistis gasped as she realized that she'd seen this man before, only a few minutes ago on the balcony as she'd hidden behind the fern. With that realization, came the chilling reminder that  _this_  was the type of man she was doomed to marry: the condescending, presumptuous, entitled sort of man—though he  _was_  handsome. The conversation he'd had with his betrothed ran through her mind and she cringed in distaste as she clenched her jaw, tightening her fingers around the fine, silky fabric of her dress.

When he next spoke, his rough, but no less rich, baritone timbre startled her out of her reverie. As much as she hated to admit it, he had a rather attractive and compelling voice. "What exactly brings you out here to Lady Hartley's garden, Lady Trepe?"

His words were smooth like the silk of her dress. They flowed over her in an obviously practiced fashion. If she had to wager a guess, she figured the Marquess knew the effect his charm had on women, and he didn't hesitate to use it.

_Well, I am not so easily won._  In a cool, overly-polite tone, she retorted, "I could ask you the same, Marquess Almasy."

The corner of his wonderful lips turned upwards in a smirk and quietly, he replied, "Touche."

They stood there for a few silent seconds, inspecting each other as if to see which of them would be the first to fold. Marquess Almasy had an amused expression on his face; his eyes were filled with mirth as if he knew he'd be the winner. Quistis concentrated on keeping her expression neutral, but it was difficult, seeing as how all she really wished to do was sneer at his pompousness.

In a dramatic fashion, the Marquess bowed slightly and swept his arm out in front of him, gesturing to the garden around them. "Well by all means, Lady Trepe, the garden is a large space. Don't let my presence hinder your experience."

Quistis narrowed her eyes at him. There was no way for her to know for certain, but it sounded like...like the Marquess was being  _sarcastic_.

_Very well, if that's how he wishes to play things…_

She curtsied in return and with her voice practically dripping with false sweetness, she replied, "Why thank you, Marquess Almasy. I can't imagine how your presence would hinder my enjoyment of these wonders of nature. After all, you can't be that impressive."

With that, she brushed past him and out of the corner of her eye, she saw his mouth fall open in shock at her words. It wasn't until she was nearly on the other side of the gardens that she allowed herself a victorious smile.

_Let's see you beat that, Marquess Almasy._

* * *

_Did she just...insinuate what I think she insinuated? And she's a_ lady _?_

Over on the other side of the area, Lady Trepe was wandering around the perimeter, admiring the various blossoms and foliage. As she turned around the corner and faced him once again, she lifted her gloved hand and ran it along the surface of the hedges, a small smile lifting the corners of her lips.

_That little minx...that implication was most certainly intended. Well, well. A lady of the ton who isn't meek and demure. Who would've thought? Color me intrigued…_

Seifer watched her travel around the garden and when she was standing practically in front of him, he called out, "So, tell me Lady Trepe…"

She faced him with a start and tilted her head inquisitively, waiting for him to finish. He cleared his throat and finished with, "What brings you to Lady Hartley's ball?"

At his question, she faced him head-on, folding her hands in front of her and resting them on her dress. "How is that any of your business, my lord?"

Her tone wasn't necessarily impolite, but he could tell that she wondered why he was even bothering to ask. The curiosity on her face, intermingled with a bit of apprehension, gave that away rather clearly.

With a nonchalant shrug, he replied, "Just making conversation. If we're both trying to escape the ball and just happened to arrive at the same oasis, we might as well try to get to know each other, right?"

Her expression didn't change. After a second, she asked, "You do realize that it's highly improper for us to even be speaking to each other? After all, we weren't formally introduced."

He snorted. "That's preposterous. I introduced myself to you, you introduced yourself to me. Isn't that good enough?"

"Not by society's standards."

"Well, society can sod off," he muttered.

She raised an eyebrow. "I beg your pardon?"

Seifer met her gaze again and dismissively responded, "Nothing, Lady Trepe." He had been leaning against the edge of the fountain the entire time they'd been speaking, and it was now that he pushed off of it, walking slowly towards her. "Are you trying to tell me that you'd rather spend our time together in absolute silence?"

"That would be the...appropriate thing to do," she replied in a quiet voice.

He now stood directly in front of her and peered down his nose at her. She was quite a bit shorter than he was, making it only up to about his chin. Indignantly, she craned her head back and met his gaze directly, as if daring him to speak down to her. Instead, he leaned down, intentionally invading her personal space, and she pulled away from him, her skin flushing pink.

With his lips nearly against her ear, he murmured, "I rarely do the appropriate thing, Lady Trepe…"

He felt her shiver and he smiled knowingly as he straightened, turning his back on her and walking over to stand beside the fountain again. He leaned back against it once more, and folded his arms across his chest, smirking at her.

She didn't move, she didn't respond...she simply stood there in shocked silence. It wasn't until nearly a full minute later that she finally recovered and cleared her throat, tucking an errant strand of her golden hair behind her ear. Her fingers brushed against the pearl and diamond earring that she wore and it dangled, twinkling as it caught the light from the lanterns lining the garden. It was as if the piece of jewelry was taunting Seifer to return and breath in her scent once more; he thought he'd caught the subtle hint of lilies and crisp summer apples. It was a refreshing change from the musky scents that the other ladies in the ton seemed to prefer.

"Very well then, I shall throw caution to the wind and forego propriety for one night," she stated with a firm nod.

Though she kept her back ramrod straight and stared directly into his eyes, her voice wavered slightly and Seifer ventured a guess that breaking the rules was not something Lady Trepe did often.

"You make it sound as if I'm forcing you to do so," he quipped.

Defiantly, she shook her head at him. "Not at all. You've simply enlightened me to how exciting life can be when one...doesn't care."

He chuckled and replied, "Exactly. The best example would be that we probably would never have met under normal circumstances. But since we took things into our own hands, here we are, having a friendly chat."

"Indeed," she responded with a coy smile.

Seifer gestured to the bench along the opposite end of the garden and invited, "Care to join me?"

"Lead the way, my lord," she agreed, placing her hand in his. Though she wore gloves, Seifer could swear he felt the heat radiating from her palms into his own hands.

He led her over to the bench and allowed her time to adjust her skirt before she sat down, and he followed suit. Ensuring that he maintained a decent amount of distance between them—after all, he didn't want to scare her into running for the hills now, did he?—he propped his right ankle up on his left knee, resting his arm along the back of the bench.

Once Seifer was settled, he turned to Lady Trepe and asked, "So...what  _really_  brings you to Lady Hartley's ball tonight?"

She let out a long sigh and tucked yet another strand of hair behind her other ear. "Truthfully, it was not my choice to come."

"Ironic, that...it wasn't mine either," he commented.

She turned to him with slightly wide eyes and questioned, "What do you mean?"

"My father and mother forced me to come, in order to meet my... _betrothed_." He hadn't meant to say the word with such disdain, but before he could rein himself in, the antagonism in his tone had snuck out.

To his surprise, she smiled and covered her mouth with her hand, in an attempt to hide her smile from him. Unfortunately for her, he'd seen it anyway and he teased, "Is my discomfort amusing to you?"

Her gloved hands shot up and she waved them in the air, dismissing the notion. "No no, that's not why I laughed, forgive me. I found it funny that...that's actually the same reason  _I'm_  here."

"You came to meet  _your_  betrothed?" he echoed.

With a slight shrug, she explained, "Sort of. I'm not yet officially betrothed to anyone. But my father instructed that I attend so that I could  _meet_  someone  _to_  marry. He gave me six months..."

"Ah, I see now. Six  _months_? That's the entire season, and then some," he noted.

"Yes, well...I have quite the reputation in the ton. I don't expect six months to be enough," she replied with bitterness coloring her words.

"Reputation? What sort of reputation might that be?"

She glanced sidelong at him and let out another sigh. After a moment of hesitation, she reluctantly muttered, "Ice Queen Quistis."

Seifer's mouth fell open and he gaped at her. " _You_?  _You're_  Ice Queen Quistis?"

At the sound of her obviously abhorred nickname coming from his lips, she cringed. He noticed her reaction and quickly said, "I didn't mean for it to...I didn't realize  _you_  were Lady Quistis Trepe."

"That would be me," she whispered, staring down at her hands.

"The ton can be overly cruel…" he trailed off in an attempt at comforting her. He'd never been good at consoling women. Instead, he switched topics and said, "I can't imagine having a deadline. Granted, my parents chose the woman I'm to spend the rest of my life with but...that removes  _some_  of the pressure, I imagine."

"Yes, about that...Who is  _your_  betrothed, Marquess Almasy?" Quistis asked, looking back up at him.

It was his turn to sigh. "I'm not sure you know her. Then again, as Viscount Trepe's daughter, perhaps you've met. Her name is Miss Caraway, she's the daughter of General Fury Caraway of Deling."

Quistis' mouth fell open and in an odd tone of voice, she replied, " _Rinoa_? I am acquainted with her, yes. We've only met a few times, but we do know each other."

Unsure of what else to add, Seifer simply nodded and stared off at the fountain, listening to the gurgling sound of the water. They were both ruminating over their current situations, and after a few minutes of silence, he wryly commented, "Oh fathers and mothers, what would we do without them?"

"Be free to marry—" Lady Trepe began, to which Seifer finished, "—whomever we wished."

The two shared a laugh, though it was without true mirth. More so, it was a laugh that indicated they were kindred spirits who understood exactly what the other person was going through.

Seifer looked over at Quistis and she smiled up at him. The expression lit up her face and he marveled at the fact that she could look even  _more_  beautiful. Inside, the orchestra struck up another chord and he recognized it as the tune of a waltz. He stood and held his hand out to her, causing her to look up at him with wide, surprised eyes.

"Care to dance, Lady Trepe?"

"I-We...There are no chaperones…" she trailed off, tucking an invisible strand of hair behind her ear again. Seifer noted that it must be a nervous habit of hers.

"Propriety has been tossed out the window, remember?" he teased.

"Oh, I don't know…"

He smirked as an idea came to him. He dropped his arm and began to slowly walk away from her, calling out over his shoulder, "Very well then...I should have figured Ice Queen Quistis wouldn't rise to the challenge…"

Almost immediately, he heard the swish of her skirt which was followed by quick footsteps, and he grinned in anticipation. He turned back around just as she was coming to a stop right in front of him. This time, she held out  _her_  hand to him and stated, "Fine. If it is a dance you wish to have, then it is a dance you will receive."

"You surprise me, Lady Trepe," he quipped with a teasing smile on his face.

She huffed as he grasped her gloved hand and held it in his own, placing his other hand on her waist. He felt her rest her free hand on his shoulder, and he began to lead them through the lilting cadence of the waltz. The rhythm was familiar and they went through the motions aided by muscle memory. Every man and woman of respectable birth knew a variety of social dances, and neither of them were an exception.

After a few minutes of twirling in circles, Seifer noticed that she refused to meet his gaze. She didn't strike him as the shy type, so he wondered what caused her avoidance. For some reason, her timid attitude irked him; he wanted to see that fire that she'd exhibited when she'd first set foot into the garden.

In a spur of the moment decision that he couldn't have explained even if he'd tried, he wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her in, flush against his body and far beyond the allowances of propriety. She let out a surprised gasp that was quickly shortened by the air whooshing out of her lungs as her chest hit his.

Her pale eyes shot up to his and she squirmed in his arms as she verbally complained, "Marquess Almasy, I beg your—Please let me go!"

"Not until you actually look like you're enjoying my company. For Hyne's sake, woman, your expression makes it look like seeing the doctor is the next step up on your list of exciting times."

"I  _am_  enjoying your company," she retorted.

"Are you now?" he threw back at her, letting his doubt color his words so she could hear.

She sputtered in lieu of an actual response, still trying to pull out of his arms. Unfortunately—or fortunately, depending on how he chose to look at it—the motion of her body writhing against his made him feel rather...excited...and since she continued to thrash about like he was some heathen trying to kidnap her or something, he chose to let her go.

_So much for a romantic dance…_

She quickly backed away and he turned around to face the opposite direction, so that she couldn't see the evidence of his highly inappropriate reaction to her body. He could hear her angry breathing; long bursts of air left her lungs with little, indignant huffs at the end of them.

"I understand that you were trying to distract me from my situation, my  _lord_ , but I would've expected better behavior from  _you_ ," she chastised.

The tone of her voice ignited that small spark of irritation from earlier, that had died down to a tiny smolder in his chest, and he placed his hands on his hips as he scoffed in disbelief. "Unbelievable. Are you honestly  _reprimanding_  me? What are you, my governess?"

He heard her sharp inhale and immediately afterwards, her angry voice called out to him. "Excuse  _you_ , my lord. You do not know me; you know nothing about me beyond what I've told you in the past ten minutes. Just because I shared something personal and private with you, that does not mean it gives you the right to—to  _manhandle_  me."

"Good Hyne, woman. I wasn't  _manhandling_  you. I was simply trying to invoke a sense of connection, a sense of—"

"Of what? Of an intimate sexual encounter? I'm sorry to disappoint you, my lord, I am not a lady of the  _night_ ," she pressed. When he didn't respond, she stomped around in front of him and glared up into his eyes, demanding, "Why aren't you  _looking_  at me as I speak to you?"

"Because I'm trying to maintain the level of propriety that you were so desperate for," he spat.

She leaned away from him, her eyebrows lowered in confusion until her gaze flitted downward, taking in his current state of slight arousal. Her mouth dropped open in surprise and Seifer let out a long exhale, turning his head to the side.

"Oh...Oh, I…" she trailed off, her cheeks flushing as she dropped her gaze to the ground.

"Indeed," he muttered, turning away from her again.

"I'm sorry, I did not realize—" she began to say, until another woman's voice interrupted her.

"My lord? Marquess Almasy, are you out here?"

Seifer turned sharply towards the entrance of the garden, his eyes narrowing in recognition. "Lady Trepe, if you don't wish to be forced into becoming my wife tomorrow, I highly suggest you leave. Now."

Indignantly, she retorted, "Why should  _I_ leave? Why wouldn't you be—"

Yet again, she was interrupted. "It's Rinoa...Are you speaking to someone? Don't move, I'll be there in just a moment," Miss Caraway called out.

"As surprising as it may be to you, Lady Trepe, I am not jesting. Leave,  _now_ ," he directed in a quiet voice, but no less firm, as he pointed to the exit on the other end of the clearing.

She glared at him one last time with her striking, icy-blue eyes, before she scurried past him; the swishing sound of her skirts as she ran was the last evidence of her presence in the garden.

* * *

Quistis hurried along the path leading out of the maze, her heart pounding as her feet carried her swiftly away from Marquess Almasy. Once she was out of the maze's embrace, the Hartley's house loomed up before her, the bright, inviting lights welcoming her back into its midst. As the dirt path from the gardens transitioned into gravel, she quickly made her way towards the front steps to head back inside, when she heard a man call out to her.

"Lady Trepe?"

She whirled around, her hand flying to her neck in surprise. Before her stood her butler, and she exhaled deeply as she asked, "Biggs? What in the world are you doing here?"

"I'm...here to retrieve you, my lady. The ball is over and has been for a few minutes…" he trailed off, letting her know in a subtle manner that he'd been waiting for her to appear for some time. "Your father instructed me to come and pick you up once the ball had ended."

"Oh, of course. That's right," she replied hastily. "I simply stepped outside to get some fresh air. I'm ready to leave then, if you are."

Biggs bowed and nudged the footman's arm. The younger man raced forward and pulled open the coach door, tugging down the steps for her to climb into the vestibule. When he stepped back, Biggs approached Quistis and held out his hand to assist her, and she smiled gratefully at him as she clambered into the coach.

The footman shut the door behind her once she was seated, and she heard Biggs climb up top to sit beside the driver. With a whoop, they lurched forward and were heading on their way home.

Now that she had a moment to breath and process everything that had happened tonight, Quistis found that her mind was reeling.

The Marquess of Balamb was indeed the same man she'd seen on the balcony earlier, with his betrothed, Miss Rinoa Caraway. Somehow, though she knew she'd never seen him before, his  _name_  sounded familiar, and she was having a difficult time placing where she'd heard it before. She knew for certain that she'd never met him prior to the ball, and that knowledge was cemented by the fact that Deling City and Balamb were nowhere near one another.

The closer they got to the house, the more frustrated she became. Not only at the fact that she couldn't seem to remember where she'd heard his name before, but at the man's  _arrogant_ behavior. They'd only known each other for just under an hour, and already he was molesting her and acting as if he was courting her. No, beyond that! A respectable gentleman would never act in such a way, regardless of whether he was courting her or not.

Granted, the Marquess  _had_  warned her that he rarely chose the appropriate path, but she'd thought he'd only been teasing her to rile her up. Who was she to know that he'd actually been serious? After all, they didn't know one another.

Out of nowhere, the mental image of him standing before her, his broad shoulders barely contained in his dress jacket, the front of his trousers protruding with his slight arousal, popped into her mind again.

It was the first time she'd ever seen, or  _felt_ , a man's arousal against her body, and she blushed fiercely as she recalled it. Part of her wanted to forget the entire ordeal and shove it into the back of her memories, never to be pulled to the surface again. Yet, the other part of her was insanely curious. She'd always loved learning and the challenge of new material, and this was something else entirely—something she had absolutely  _no_  prior knowledge of.

The strangest thing of the entire situation had been the way her body had reacted to him. Obviously, she had no idea what to do, but it was as if  _nature_  knew and the feel of his hard, masculine muscles against her soft, feminine curves, had sent waves of tension rolling through her. The muscles in her lower abdomen had tightened, as if in anticipation for something, and she was horribly confused at how she'd responded.

With a dramatic shake of her head, she forced all thoughts of the impudent man from her mind and let out a deep sigh, as she watched the facade of her home approach in the distance.

_What has he done to me?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hooray! An update! 
> 
> Thanks to Strings805 and StarryNight101 for beta-reading : 3 See you guys next time!


	4. The Food of Love: The Deling Opera

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zell invites Quistis to attend the Deling Opera. While there, she meets up with an unexpected gentleman. 
> 
> They say that poetry (or rather, all kinds of prose) is the food of love, do they not?

Two weeks had passed since Lady Hartley's ball, and Quistis easily fell back into her daily routine.

The life of a lady wasn't terribly exciting, but she was grateful for the fact that her father had yet to invite any more suitors to the house. A break from the repetition of meeting dunce after dunce was incredibly welcome, and she almost embraced the monotony of her daily activities. Almost.

Today in particular, she was sitting at the drawing table in their parlor, absentmindedly sketching the landscape outside of the window. She was concentrating on finishing her fifth sketch of the same view, and swore if she found nothing else to do in the next few minutes, she just might stab herself in the eye, simply for a bit of excitement.

Not a full minute after that morbid thought left her, Selphie entered the parlor and cleared her throat, which prompted Quistis to glance up. "Selphie. What is it?"

"I'm sorry to interrupt you, m'lady—"

Quistis interrupted Selphie with a shake of her head and replied, "By all means, Selphie. Interrupt me. Please."

Selphie giggled and replied, "You've a visitor."

Quistis tightened her lips into a thin line in resignation. "It's another suitor, isn't it?"

"Actually ma'am, no. I think you'll be rather excited to see  _this_  visitor." With that, Selphie stepped aside and revealed the blond man standing behind her, who had a wide grin on his face.

A gasp of surprise escaped Quistis, and she shot to her feet. "Baron Dincht! What a surprise—and a pleasure, to be sure!"

"How many times do I have to tell you to call me Zell, Quistis?" he asked, before letting out a jovial laugh and bowing per custom, to which Quistis curtsied in return. He strode into the room and took in his surroundings without uttering another word. Once his eyes returned to Quistis, he lifted an eyebrow in jest.

She rolled her eyes and said, "I'm sorry, Zell. Habits are difficult to break. And—" she held up a hand. "—I know. My father's decorations are horrendous. This is the room I entertain all of my suitors in, so he decorates the room with that in mind."

Zell chuckled. "I'm so sorry, Quistis. That sounds...absolutely awful."

She cringed in response and gestured to the sofa opposite her as she sat down. "To what do I owe this visit?"

Zell wandered over and once he too was seated, he said, "I was actually wondering if you had plans this evening."

"This evening? Well, I don't know, I have quite a few more paintings to finish…" she trailed off, glancing at the pile of identical sketches on her drawing table.

He followed her gaze and saw what had kept her occupied the entire day, before he let out a laugh. "I take it you're free."

A wry grin spread out across her face and she replied, "Yes, Zell. I'm free."

"Good. I have an open seat at tonight's opera."

At the word 'opera', Quistis straightened in her seat and widened her eyes. "Did you say...opera?"

Zell smiled knowingly before he nodded. "The lady who was supposed to attend with me, unfortunately, fell ill. I can't very well  _not_  go, not after informing everyone that I was planning to be there. Barons do have a reputation to uphold, after all. I was hoping you'd come with me in her stead. I remember how much you loved the opera when we were younger."

When Quistis was a young girl and her parents still took her out on the town—instead of focusing on finding her a husband—going to the opera had been one of her absolute favorite things to do. Seeing the elaborate costumes, witnessing the spectacle that was the production, hearing the beautiful sopranos share their heart and souls with the world...it had been a magical experience every single time. By the time she'd reached the age of sixteen, they'd started to stay in more and more, and that was when her father had begun inviting over "eligible" bachelors every week.

The opera had been, by far, one of the things she missed the most about the past—even more than her supposed innocence and lack of responsibilities. Granted, her responsibilities hadn't necessarily grown  _quite_  that much; she was now required to be well-versed in...well, nearly everything, and to know when not to speak her mind—which was often never. Her bitterness had grown substantially over the years regarding her "new responsibilities", but it was a fact, and a life of privilege that she could not escape—no matter how much she might want to.

So, Zell's unexpected invitation to her favorite outing of old sent a ripple of excitement coursing through her. It also warmed her heart to know that he'd remembered something about her, even from all those years ago. Most people would find that bit of information trivial, but Zell had always been good at noticing the things that made people happy. Though he wasn't as serious about his title as he probably should be, he more than made up for his few flaws with his big heart.

"I would  _love_  to attend the opera with you, Zell. But...I cannot go with you unchaperoned. Selphie would need to come with us," Quistis explained, gesturing to Selphie who waved from the corner of the room.

Zell glanced over at Selphie for a brief second, but ended up doing a double-take. " _Selphie_?"

Selphie curtsied and cheerily greeted, "Good day, m'lord!"

"You...Weren't you Quistis' handmaiden when we were children, too?"

Selphie nodded and explained, "I've been with m'lady since we were young, yes. I first came to the house when I was 'bout six."

Zell nodded vehemently, as if a mystery had been solved in that moment. "I thought you looked familiar. Of course you should come! But my box only has two seats...I might have to sort out a different seating arrangement, in that case."

With a frown, Quistis said, "I'm sorry for the inconvenience. If it's too much trouble Zell—"

He held up his hand and cut her off with a shake of his head. "No, no. I invited you; you're going. I'll just have to talk to a friend of mine and I should be able to work it out. I'll come by and gather you ladies around six this evening?"

Picking up on his hint, Quistis rose to her feet, which prompted Zell to mirror her actions. "Six sounds wonderful. I can't wait."

After a quick, but nonetheless affectionate embrace, Zell left the manor. Quistis and Selphie glanced at each other before letting out identical squeals of excitement.

Six in the evening couldn't come a minute sooner.

* * *

When the sun had barely begun to disappear behind the mountain range in the distance, Zell arrived to pick the ladies up in his grand coach. When the vestibule pulled up to the front steps, Zell hopped out with an unnatural amount of energy in his gait. He bounded over to the door where Quistis and Selphie stood waiting, sweeping his arm low in a playful bow.

"Good evening, ladies," he greeted, his voice much lower than it normally was. He sounded like he was trying to imitate an eerie creature of the night, and it ended up being absolutely ridiculous. But, that was Zell, and Quistis wouldn't have changed him for the world.

She shook her head at his behavior, and when he held out his hand for her, she slid her gloved one into his with a smile. "Good evening, Baron Dincht."

"Are you excited?" he asked, aiming a wink in Selphie's direction.

It warmed her heart that he always included Selphie in his conversations. There were many in the ton who had a habit of ignoring handmaidens—or any type of servant, really—and it often was uncomfortable to witness. Selphie had been with her since Quistis was a young girl, and because they were only one year apart, she often considered her more of a sister; she was her closest confidant, and couldn't imagine life without her. So, when Selphie was snubbed by others who believed their stations put them above her in every aspect, Quistis didn't particularly care to converse with them any longer.

At Zell's question, Selphie bounced up and down on the balls of her feet, obviously having trouble containing her exuberance. "Oh yes, I am indeed excited! It has been  _so_  long since we—I mean, Lady Trepe—has been able to go to an opera. I know how much she loves it."

Quistis laughed and wound her arm through Selphie's as the trio made their way to Zell's coach. "Selphie, I know how much  _you_ enjoy it as well. It's perfectly all right to admit that you are excited."

The footman pulled open the door for them and once the steps were lowered, Zell helped the ladies into the coach's cabin. When they were settled, he climbed in after them and none too soon, they were on their way into the city.

They rode in silence for a few minutes, until Zell asked, "So Quistis, when was the last time you went to an opera?"

She glanced up at the satin upholstery on the ceiling and replied, "I...do not remember. It's obviously been quite some time. I believe the last one I attended was 'I Want to be Your Canary' when I was but a child?"

Zell pinched his eyebrows together in deep thought, before they shot up again in recognition. "You don't mean the opera that was put on by that traveling group? We were what, seven when they came through town?"

Quistis let out a quiet laugh, and said, "I believe so—well, I was eight.  _You_   _two_  were seven."

"Yes, yes, you are the older and wiser one, we know," Zell teased, which caused Selphie to giggle.

"She  _is_  always using that excuse, isn't she?" Selphie ribbed. Quistis politely nudged her handmaiden in the side and Selphie yelped, before shooting a jestful glare in Quistis' direction.

With perfect timing, the coach came to a halt and they heard the footman clambering off the top of the carriage. A few seconds later, their door opened and the grand facade of the opera house loomed before them.

It was truly breathtaking.

The trim around the windows and the entranceway were edged in gold, and the filigree caught the dying rays of the sun in such a way that made it appear to glow. It contrasted greatly with the darker side of the sky behind the opera house, and Quistis found herself wishing she could have drawn  _this_ instead of the field behind her house, though she likely wouldn't have been able to do it justice anyhow. The finishing touches were the small, but no less noticeable maroon banners that flew from the buttresses along the top of the building, adorned with the tri-cornered crest of Deling.

In a new architectural fashion, the walkway leading up to the entrance was covered by something that appeared to be an extended roof. From that makeshift ceiling hung a grand crystal chandelier, which was currently illuminated by what had to be a hundred candles. The tiered crystals twisted the beams of light into prismatic patterns on the plush red carpet below; though it reminded her of the decor of the ton that she so hated, her love and joy for the opera greatly overshadowed that.

Zell stepped into her vision and she noticed that he had his arm held out for her, a knowingly teasing expression on his face. "Come along, Quistis. I know it's been a while for you yet, but we've got to make it inside  _some_ time tonight."

Quistis scoffed and batted him lightly on the shoulder with her fan. "Keep your snide comments to yourself, Baron Dincht," she teased back.

He laughed and led her up the walkway, pausing for a moment when the attendants opened the door for them. Once they were through and inside the lobby, Quistis craned her neck back and gaped up at the high ceilings, her mouth hanging open in awe.

Her impression of the exterior was greatly overshadowed by her opinion of the interior. The designers had taken the grandeur and beauty of the facade and tripled it, clearly aiming to impress its guests. The crimson carpets from the walkway outside carried into the lobby and extended as far as Quistis could see in either direction; she suspected that it could be found throughout the entire opera house. Two curved staircases ran along either side of the room, and framed directly in the center, was a colossal chandelier that was even larger than the one outside. One was evidently not enough for the owners, for there were two smaller ones flanking the one in the center. Breathtaking, iridescent patterns adorned every inch of the walls and floors. As if she were a child again, Quistis reached out her arm to try and catch the crystalline reflections, and was elated when they reflected on her skin. It made her feel like a fairy, lost in some fantastic other world.

From behind her, she heard Selphie inhale and faced her friend with a knowing smile on her face. "Magnificent, isn't it?"

Selphie gazed upwards, taken in by the sights that surrounded them. "I don't recall the opera house being  _this_  incredible…"

At that, Zell piped up. "That's because it wasn't. It was remodeled about five years ago, when the opera house received a new patron."

"He must have an enormous pocketbook," Selphie mused. A little belatedly, she realized she'd said that aloud and clapped her hands over her mouth.

Quistis groaned inwardly, and opened her mouth to apologize for her friend until she noticed that Zell was laughing, rather than appearing to be offended. She raised a quizzical eyebrow at him, to which he replied, "I know the new patron personally—he's actually the one I sorted out our seats with; you'll be occupying his box tonight. If he heard you say that, he would've lost his mind. A large pocketbook...ha!"

"Your friend sounds...rather peculiar, Zell," Quistis commented.

"Peculiar is  _one_  word you could use to describe him, though there are probably a few others that would fit a little better," he said with a chuckle as he turned and headed towards the left-most staircase. "You'll see what I mean in a moment. I told him we'd meet him at his box."

Once they reached the second level, they passed through a smaller, though no less ornate door, and headed up another small flight of steps. Eventually, Zell came to a stop in front of a velvet curtain—also crimson and embroidered with spun gold—that had been drawn shut. When he reached out and pulled the edge back, he called out, "Almasy? You in there?"

Quistis tilted her head as she thought,  _Almasy? That sounds oddly familiar…_

When a blond, exceptionally tall, broad-shouldered gentleman with a one-of-a-kind facial scar came out from behind the curtain, Quistis couldn't hold back the gasp that escaped her. " _You_!"

The Marquess of Balamb glanced over at Quistis before looking away again, seemingly uninterested—though he did appear irritated at her reaction. It only took a second for him to realize who she was, and why her statement seemed so familiar, and he turned back to her again with his eyebrows raised in surprise. "Well, well, well. If it isn't the Ice Queen," he greeted with a smirk.

Quistis sighed inwardly before curtsying as custom demanded. With a slight grimace, she thought,  _I should've never admitted that to him. Then again, I never thought I'd see him a second time._  Aloud, she replied, "Marquess Almasy. I do admit that I am surprised to see you here."

"Likewise,  _Lady_  Trepe," Seifer replied, though from his tone, Quistis could tell that he'd prefer to stick to her nickname. Whether it was simply for the sake of goading her along, or whether he was truly just that irritating, she couldn't say. Then again, both of those things were rather similar in nature. Perhaps that was just the way he was, and that had been what Zell meant when he said that "peculiar" was not the first word he would have chosen to describe the Marquess.

After all, it wasn't as if she knew him.

Zell glanced at Quistis before looking back at Seifer. "Wait, you two know each other?"

That prompted Selphie to join in and ask, "I'm with the Baron. How  _do_  you know this gentleman, m'lady?"

Quistis stammered, "I—I, um…"

When he saw that she was clearly at a loss for words, Seifer took over and explained, "We met briefly at Lady Hartley's ball. A mutual acquaintance introduced us. I wouldn't say we spoke for more than a few minutes. Isn't that right, Lady Trepe?"

After she cleared her throat, Quistis agreed, "Yes, that's right, I apologize. I was still so astounded at your appearance—and at the fact that you know Baron Dincht—to form a response."

"Indeed, although the latter point is a story for another time," Seifer added as he stepped up beside Zell and placed his hand on the other man's shoulder. "Well ladies, we'll leave you to it. Because we're  _such_  gentleman, we'll go and take Dincht's box, which has the worse view by far."

At that, Selphie piped up and said, "If the view is worse, then why are you going over there instead of staying in your own box? Er, my lord."

Zell scoffed. "We can't very well leave him here with Lady Trepe unchaperoned, can we? That'd be highly inappropriate."

Seifer glanced at Quistis with a knowing grin. "Yes, and Lady Trepe despises anything inappropriate, doesn't she?"

Miffed, Quistis straightened and replied, "I'm not a  _prude_."

To which Seifer crossed his arms and leaned back, inspecting her with hooded eyes as his grin widened. "I said nothing of the sort—though I find it fascinating that that's the route you took with your defense."

"Are you  _trying_  to bait me, Marquess Almasy?"

"I would never," Seifer responded, though Quistis noticed the utter lack of sincerity in his tone. They stood there, staring each other down.

Zell and Selphie's heads swiveled back and forth with each response, until Zell held up his hands and said, "I think I'm confused. Do you  _want_  to stay in your box, Almasy? Or not?"

Seifer broke eye contact with her and turned back to Zell. "Well, we've already established that the view from my box is better."

"Fine, then we'll stay here! Quistis, you and Selphie can take my box," Zell suggested.

Selphie pouted, clearly unhappy with that solution. "But it's been ages since we've been to the opera, remember? I'm sure m'lady would like the best view. That is, if the Marquess wouldn't mind."

Seifer raised an eyebrow at Quistis, and she found herself narrowing her eyes in suspicion at his expression. He cleared his throat and offered, "What if you two take Dincht's box, and Lady Trepe and I remain here? After all, there are attendants all around us, and Dincht, you can see my box from yours. You'd know in an instant if anything... _inappropriate_ , were to happen."

Zell frowned, studying Seifer intently. Though they were friends, he didn't appear to trust the Marquess enough to be alone with Quistis. "And if you're found alone and unchaperoned, Quistis? What then?"

She found herself glancing at Seifer out of the corner of her eye. They were in a public place, it was hardly scandalous to be found alone in an opera box while the opera was playing out on the stage. Afterwards, or at intermission was a different story, but during? Something about the thrill of the situation excited her, and to her surprise, she found herself playing along. There was a certain something about the Marquess that made her feel bold, made life seem thrilling, and she  _wanted_  to push herself out of her comfort zone. That rarely happened in  _any_  situation for her, and when that spark of excitement appeared, she found herself wanting to grab onto it.

"We're in an opera house, Zell. I highly doubt society will require us to marry for watching an opera together. Besides, like the Marquess said, you'll be able to see us the entire time. So will the rest of the opera house," she said with a shrug, acting none-too-concerned.

Seifer placed his hand on Quistis' back, and the unexpected touch caused her to jump. She had to suppress a shiver at the warmth that spread throughout her body, which was such a contradiction. It was such an intimate place for physical contact, and again, she was surprised that she didn't pull away. He steered her towards the curtain, pulling it aside as he said over his shoulder, "There you have it! We'll see you two at intermission, hm?"

Zell raised his hand in protest, stepping forward as he called out, "Wait, Almasy—"

"Do enjoy the show!" Seifer exclaimed, letting the curtain drop behind them.

They heard Zell mumble, "Tch," before his and Selphie's lighter footsteps faded into the distance.

Seifer chuckled before leading her to their chairs. After they sat down in the plush velvet seats, Quistis looked at him and asked, "You enjoy teasing him, don't you?"

"I do, indeed. I mean really, it's far too amusing. He's just so easy to rile up."

She shook her head at him before looking down at the stage. The first set was almost completely set up, and the opera would likely be starting in just a few minutes. "I take it you've known each other long, then?"

To her right, Seifer's rich, deep baritone was much closer than she'd anticipated. It sounded like he was hovering just behind her shoulder. "I would say so. We attended Balamb Garden together."

When she faced him again, she ended up quickly leaning away in surprise; he  _had_  been hovering over her shoulder, and their lips had nearly brushed when she'd turned back. "Y-You did?"

She saw his eyes flicker down to her lips, before meeting hers again. Even in the dark, his blue irises were intense and radiant—as bright as the bluest lake in the early morning light, when the sun was reflecting off of the surface. At a volume that was barely above a whisper, which caused his voice to become rough and, dare she say almost sultry, he said, "Yes...we did."

"I-I—" Quistis began to say, but she was interrupted by the applause that suddenly erupted from the audience below.

Like the rake she suspected he was, he lifted a finger to his lips and gestured for her to be quiet. With a not-so-subtle, seductive wink, he then leaned back in his own chair. However, the way he positioned himself was so that he was leaning over the edge, into her space. Since she'd planned on actually  _enjoying_  the opera, she sincerely hoped that he'd move sometime soon. His overwhelming presence was...distracting, to say the least.

The orchestra started up then, and when the actors began milling about the stage for the first act, Quistis glanced sidelong at Seifer. She hoped that he'd see her non-verbal hint, but of course, his eyes remained riveted on the stage.

After fifteen minutes had passed and he still hadn't budged an inch, she sighed in acceptance—he likely wasn't planning on moving at all for the remainder of the opera. Whether he was intentionally trying to fluster her, or whether he just naturally invaded others' personal space—the memory of how he'd convinced her into dancing with him at Lady Hartley's ball flitted through her mind—she wasn't quite sure.

All throughout the first act, she continued to shift in her seat, trying to focus her attention on the opera rather than the Marquess' close vicinity. A sudden wave of heat flashed through her and she pulled her fan out of her reticule, snapping it open with a flick of her wrist.

When she started fanning herself, in a low, sultry voice, Seifer asked, "Are you hot, Lady Trepe?"

Quistis cleared her throat and mumbled, "Just a bit. I'm sure with all the people in the room, the temperature has likely risen."

"Mmm...I'm sure that's  _exactly_  why," he murmured into her ear.

She jerked away in surprise at how close he sounded, and when she leaned away to look up at him, she lowered her eyebrows in consternation. "Or perhaps it's because of how close you're sitting to me. Would you mind staying in your  _own_  seat, my lord?"

Seifer chuckled before acquiescing to her request, training his eyes on the stage once more. She followed suit, glancing back at him one last time before she too focused her attention on the opera. Thankfully, the Marquess respected her wishes and remained at a distance for the remainder of the first act. As a result, she fell into the opera's storyline, feeling herself scoot to the edge of her seat as the tension continued to build.

When the main heroine donned her disguise and left the safety of her castle, she gasped at the character's strength and determination. They were traits she wished she had a bit more of herself. If she were like the heroine, then perhaps she too could run from her responsibilities, chase her dreams, and follow her own agenda. Alas, reality was far harsher than the plot of an opera.

The remaining hour until intermission flew by, and before Quistis knew it, the curtains were being pulled shut. When their means of entertainment during the intermission, in the form of a few actors dressed like jesters, came out onto the stage, she figured now would be a good time to make conversation with the Marquess.

She faced him and was surprised to find that he was already looking in her direction, as if he'd been waiting for her to do that very thing.

When they locked eyes, a slow grin spread out across his face. "So. How did you enjoy the first half, Lady Trepe?"

"I...I thoroughly enjoyed it. Thank you, Marquess Almasy, for allowing me to use your box."

"You are most welcome. It is nice having company who doesn't feel the need to fill the silence with incessant chatter," he commented.

_Is he referring to Miss Caraway…?_

Seifer moved to look over the edge of the box at the audience below. She followed his gaze, and out of the corner of her vision, a ghostly, opalescent head of hair caught her eye. A slight gasp escaped her; the almost unearthly shade quite literally stole her breath away. It was as pale as the moon's soft glow, in the middle of the night. However, when she peered over the railing even more, she was surprised to find that it didn't belong to a woman—the hair belonged to an extremely slender gentleman. People often commented on her own figure and flaxen hair, but it was truly nothing compared to the man who stood below.

Quistis looked away from the man with the beautiful brocade, and glanced over at Seifer. He seemed otherwise distracted by the audience, and she took that opportunity to rise to her feet, brushing the skirt of her dress to occupy her hands. "I think I should go find Baron Dincht and my handmaiden. They're likely about to come and find us, anyhow."

At that, he looked up at her and nodded in agreement. "Yes, you're probably right. I'll come with you."

He too rose to his feet and they made their way over to the curtain at the back of the box. When she reached out to brush aside the heavy velvet, the Marquess reached out and placed his hand in front of her, crossing her vision and barring her path.

Confused, she tilted her head back and peered up at him. "Is there a reason you're blocking the way, Marquess Almasy?"

"That depends...is there a reason you're denying the attraction between us?"

 _What in the world?_ "The  _attraction_?" she asked, her voice dripping with disdain.

"I don't believe you are hard of hearing, Lady Trepe. Must I repeat myself?"

"I don't know what you're talking about, my lord. There is no attraction between us," Quistis denied, breaking eye contact as she glanced away.

She would rather meet another of her father's suitors than admit to the man's face that yes, she was attracted to him. Surely he already knew the truth, otherwise he wouldn't have brought it up. Over the course of the night, she'd tried her hardest to ignore the fluttering in her stomach that happened every time he leaned closer to her. She'd also tried to pretend that the way his silken voice drifted over her didn't affect her in the slightest. Apparently, all that, in addition to their last encounter, hadn't worked to discourage him.

After all, a rake likely knew with absolute certainty when women were attracted to them, despite how much they tried to deny it.

Seifer chuckled under his breath at her words, confirming her suspicions. When he leaned down, bringing their faces closer together, she tried to back away to maintain an appropriate amount of space between them. In response, he placed his other arm behind her back, causing her to bump into it and effectively trapping her in his embrace.

"Very well, then. I'll believe you if…"

Trying to inhale as surreptitiously as possible, Quistis prompted, "If…?"

"If, when I kiss you, you don't react. At all," he whispered, tracing his lips along the curve of her ear.

"I...that is...highly inappropriate," she mumbled.

A puff of air against her earlobe told her that he'd laughed—again—at what she'd said. His lips ghosted along her jaw and when he was face-to-face with her once more, he hovered just above her. The anticipation of what she expected him to do was killing her, and part of her wanted to stand up on her toes to kiss him herself.

In a deep, gravelly tone, he murmured, "Somehow, I thought you'd say that."

With that, he closed the distance between them, and his lips were finally against hers.

She let out a surprised, though muffled yelp, and he moved his hand from the wall behind her to cup her cheek. They stood there with their lips pressed against each other, unmoving.  _I expected this to be…a bit more earth-shattering. Perhaps it will be easier to mask my attraction if that's truly how kissing feels..._

As if he read her thoughts, he shifted his weight from one foot to the other, and the slick feel of his tongue tracing along the seam of her lips caused her to jump. He pulled away and whispered, "Open for me. Let me show you what you're  _not_  experiencing."

Though a small part of her wished to accept his challenge, she found herself hesitating at his words instead. If anyone were to catch them in that compromising position, they would  _definitely_ be forced to marry; there would be no running away like the last encounter.  
Despite the fact that the sensible side of her was fighting for its voice of reason to be heard, the very slight, risque side of her was starting to take more hold. Like their first encounter, she was... _thrilled_  at the intrigue, the risk of it all. If she were truly doomed to never find a man she wanted to marry, then perhaps she deserved this bit of pleasure. Perhaps she truly had no reason  _not_  to kiss the Marquess. After all, she'd already established that he  _was_  handsome.

In a sudden, uncharacteristic bout of daredevil carelessness, Quistis pushed herself up on her tippy-toes and pressed her lips against Seifer's, closing her eyes in sheer determination. He was clearly caught off guard because his hands flew to encircle her waist, and he caught himself on his heel when he stepped back.

It was rather obvious when he realized that  _she_  was the one kissing  _him_  this time, because he increased the pressure of his lips, snaking his tongue out to trace along hers like he had before. This time, she acquiesced and opened her mouth for him.

What she experienced next took her completely aback.

His tongue slid along the length of hers, sending waves of pleasure rolling through her body. If her mouth weren't otherwise occupied, she would've gasped in surprise. Every stroke of his tongue caused her lower abdomen to tighten like it had when she'd first thought about the feel of his arousal against her stomach, that night in the garden.

She was unable to stop the low moan that crept up her throat, and when Seifer felt it reverberate through his body, he answered in kind, crushing her against him with his strong arms. Quistis brought her hands up to touch his face when she heard a gasp of surprise come from over her shoulder.

A sharp spike of panic lanced through her and she broke away from Seifer, who tried to sweep her behind him in an attempt to shield her from view. When Quistis saw that it had been Selphie who'd gasped, she breathed a sigh of relief.

That was, until Zell stepped out from behind her, his mouth gaping wide open in shock. "What the  _hell_ , Almasy?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, thank you to everyone who comments on this story. It warms my heart that people still care to read it, when I'm so horrible at updating it :x
> 
> Many thanks to Strings805 and StarryNight101 for beta-reading my awfully rough drafts and polishing them into gems :3
> 
> Hopefully the next chapter will be out sooner than this one was, but I've got to cycle through all my other WIPs before coming back to this one :


	5. Prevailed Upon to Marry Marquess Almasy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The repercussions of Seifer and Quistis' actions are very great indeed.

As soon as Zell appeared, Quistis squeezed her eyes shut in despondence. Even though the Baron was her friend, he was duty-bound to report what he’d seen to her father, which would only lead to one thing—the very thing she’d been trying so hard to avoid.

Marriage.

In front of her, Seifer tensed at the sight of Zell. It was likely that he’d reached the same conclusion that she had, but he was in a much more difficult situation. After all, he was the one who was already engaged, even if he didn’t seem to be the biggest advocate of his fiancee.

Knowing that she’d have to be the one to try and diffuse the situation, she let out a sigh and stepped around the Marquess, meeting Zell’s irate and slightly baffled gaze. She knew that if Seifer tried to explain anything to Zell, it would likely go in one ear and out the other. Zell wouldn’t listen to reason from him, even if there had been any present. In any type of scandalous situation, the blame was always pinned on the man involved. In this particular situation, it didn’t matter how many excuses she or Seifer tried to offer—they were actually guilty. Their best bet lied with her.

She approached Zell with her hands in front of her, trying to mollify his irritation at Seifer. “Zell, listen to me. I know it looks bad, but—”

That had apparently been the wrong thing to say. Incensed, Zell pointed at Seifer repeatedly, emphasizing his every word. “I find that it’s exactly what it looks like, Quistis. I trust him to be alone with you for an hour or two, and this is what I come back to! He took advantage of you, Quistis! He—”

“Zell, Zell, stop. He didn’t take advantage of me,” Quistis insisted.

Surprised at her words, he glanced over at her with raised eyebrows. “He didn’t?” he echoed in disbelief. Clearly, he didn’t buy that in the slightest.

“It was as much my fault as his,” she whispered in response. “He might’ve initiated it, but I chose not to walk away.”

“That doesn’t matter, Quistis, don’t you see? He’s the gentleman. It was his responsibility to not initiate it. Especially considering the fact that he’s engaged.” Zell didn’t bother to hide what he thought about Seifer’s actions. As much as he and Seifer were friends, Zell had always taken his responsibilities as a member of the peerage to heart. The fact that Seifer had thrown all propriety out the window to make a move on Quistis, one of his close friends, was unacceptable.

Finally, Seifer spoke up. With a slight curl of his lip, he spat, “I never asked to be engaged.”

Zell swiped his hand out before curling it into a fist at his side. “That isn’t the point, Almasy! You keep missing the crux of the situation!”

When the murmur of other conversations traveled around the corner at the end of the hall, Selphie stepped forward, wringing her hands in front of her. “Perhaps we should take this back into the box? Away from the public eye?”

“A sound idea, Selphie,” Quistis noted, and led the group back into Marquess Almasy’s box.

Once the heavy velvet curtain had fallen shut behind them, Zell whirled around to face Seifer again. “What are you going to do about this, Almasy? Are you going to rectify the situation like a respected Marquess should?”

Even though Quistis had suspected that being discovered would lead to marriage, she still sucked in a surprised breath when she heard the words leave Zell’s mouth. It was silly to be shocked. Both society and the peerage had their rules for handling these situations, and in all possible outcomes, marriage was the ending point. She’d simply hoped that, knowing how she felt about marriage, Zell would opt to let it go.

Desperately, she lunged forward and grabbed Zell’s forearm. “Please, Zell, don’t tell my father. I realize he wanted me wed within the next few months anyway, but this...he’ll be incredibly upset at the way this occurred.”

Torn between propriety and his loyalty to her, Zell furrowed his eyebrows. In a low voice, he muttered, “Quistis...I have to.”

Apparently, Seifer didn’t see eye-to-eye with Zell either in regards to his responsibility. In a terse voice, he said, “Besides, as you’ve mentioned Zell, I am already engaged.”

“That didn’t stop you from forcing yourself onto Quistis, did it? So it shouldn’t stop you from saving her reputation,” Zell replied from between clenched teeth.

Quistis glanced over at Seifer and saw that he was clenching his jaw so tightly, the muscle in his lower cheek was twitching. A few tense seconds passed before he inclined his head in Zell’s direction. Afterwards, he faced Quistis with cold, distant eyes. She cringed at how differently he was looking at her now compared to only a few minutes ago, when he’d had her pressed up against the wall.

“Lady Trepe, I beg your pardon for overstepping my boundaries. I can only hope that I’ve not offended you,” Seifer apologized, his words more formal than they’d ever been between them.

“Please don’t apologize. It wasn’t entirely your fault,” she mumbled, both grateful that he was willing to take all of the blame, and feeling abashed for him even having to offer. Clearly, as he well knew, she’d been just as eager.

From the lack of change in his tight expression, she knew that he’d either chosen to ignore her peace offering, or was far too upset to care. From the moment she’d met the Marquess, she could tell that he was a mischievous, impassioned man, albeit a tad bit more sarcastic than she’d expected from a member of the peerage. It was a refreshing change from the rest of the ton though, and she was surprised to realize that she enjoyed their banter. It kept her on her toes, and excited her far more than any conversation she’d had in the past few months.

Now that he was closed off and acting completely opposite than she knew his true personality to be, she found that she missed the other side of him—the true side of him. She also felt wary of the coming days. If they were to be married, is this the Seifer she would know as a husband? Not the one she thought she knew?

“Please expect a visit from me in the morning. It seems I have matters to discuss with Viscount Trepe,” Seifer said in a low voice, before bowing to her respectfully. Once he’d straightened, he added, “If you’ll excuse me. I find that I no longer am able to enjoy the opera. Feel free to use my box for the remainder of the night.”

Quickly, he about-faced and strode out of the box, and the curtain fell back with a heavy swoosh. Again, Quistis cringed at his stiff, proper words. With a deep sigh, she faced Zell and Selphie. The Baron had his arms crossed tightly over his chest and was glaring down at the floor, while her handmaiden was watching her closely, her eyebrows lowered in concern.

“M’lady…” Selphie started to say, before trailing off in uncertainty.

Quistis shook her head slowly, offering a small and unconvincing smile. On the inside, she dreaded tomorrow’s events with all of her being. But it wasn’t proper to fall apart at the seams at the opera house, of all places. She’d save that for the safety of her own room. In an attempt to stay strong, she reassured, “It’s all right. It is my own fault.”

That elicited a snort from Zell, who looked up at Quistis. “Hardly your fault, Quistis. Seifer is a rake and a cad, and I shouldn’t have trusted him enough to leave you alone with him.”

“Zell, please. It really isn’t entirely his fault. I had the opportunity to stop him, and I’m afraid my...curiosity got the best of me,” she admitted, looking down at the floor.

“Curiosity?” Zell echoed, looking confused.

Embarrassed that she’d admitted that aloud, Quistis shook her head again. “Nothing, I don’t know what I meant. My thoughts are all muddled from the past few minutes.”

Derisively, Zell raised an eyebrow at her. Quistis had never been one to swoon or be overtaken by emotions very easily. In fact, she prided herself on being one of the more practical ladies of the ton. So not only had her last statement been rather uncharacteristic, but her reaction to Seifer’s advances had also been out of order for her. The “Ice Queen” simply didn’t lock lips with a marquess in dark opera boxes, and yet, that’s exactly what she’d done.

Out of concern, he laid a hand on her arm and asked, “Do you wish to stay and finish the opera? Or do you want me to take you home early?”

She glanced over at Selphie, who looked ready to burst from curiosity, and stifled a laugh. Despite the bleak outcome of the night, she could always count on her friend to lift her spirits. “I think perhaps it would be best if we headed home. Perhaps I should explain what happened to my father before the Marquess comes to call in the morning.”

Zell grimaced, before reluctantly nodding in agreement. The Viscount wasn’t strict with only his daughter. He was strict and generally unfavorable with nearly everyone he came in contact with. When they were younger, Zell had had his fair share of interaction with the Viscount, and he clearly didn’t think that Quistis’ talk with her father would go well.

He led them out of the opera house and once they were standing outside, he ordered for his carriage to be brought around. While they waited, he offered Quistis his coat, which she politely declined. It was spring in Deling, and the cool night breeze was a welcome respite from their prior excitement. A few minutes later, Zell’s carriage pulled up to the end of the walkway. The Baron helped the ladies climb in before he too stepped inside, and his groom shut the door behind them.

With a whoop from the coachmen, they were off and heading back for Trepe Manor. Much of the ride was spent in silence, with Selphie occasionally nudging Quistis in the side. Every time she did so, Quistis glanced over at her with a meaningful look in Zell’s direction. Their gossip would have to wait; there were certain things she didn’t wish to say in the presence of the Baron, no matter how close of friends they might be. Besides, they’d just gotten the chance to reconnect. She didn’t want him thinking she was a wanton now, did she?

Then again, her actions tonight probably proved that to be more true than any words she could’ve said.

* * *

Sooner than Quistis would’ve liked, the carriage came to a stop in front of Trepe Manor’s grand entrance. Now that night had fallen, the staff had lit all of the lanterns lining the circular drive. When Zell climbed out of the carriage and turned to offer his hand to her, a soft halo illuminated his silhouette. Oddly enough, despite the fact that she’d never once harbored amorous feelings towards her friend, she wondered why she didn’t just marry him. As soon as that thought flitted across her mind, she immediately squelched it, and placed her hand in his with a light smile. He was a wonderful friend, and she knew that he meant well, but she’d avoided other suitors for the very same reason she couldn’t marry Zell: it would be a loveless marriage, and she couldn’t willingly subject herself to that.

No, instead she’d acted rashly and mistakenly done it.

After Zell helped Selphie out of the carriage, he escorted them to the front door. He offered a customary bow, and once he straightened, he looked at Quistis with an expression akin to regret. “Quistis, I’m so incredibly sorry for what happened tonight. I know you’ve been avoiding marriage to the wrong man like the plague, and all I’ve done is bring it upon you.”

Frustrated at his insistence of taking the blame, Quistis exhaled as she briefly shut her eyes. “Zell...it is not your fault. The blame lies with the Marquess and myself. It was a stupid thing to do, and I knew it was even as it happened. I don’t want you to leave tonight and continue thinking that you caused this. You didn’t.”

“But what if after you two wed, you realize that Almasy is a horrible man? Or what if he’s abusive? Or—”

Quistis held up her hand, cutting Zell off. “I highly doubt you would be close friends with such an atrocious man. He is your friend, is he not?” Zell nodded, and Quistis finished with, “Then have a little more faith in him. I do admit that I don’t know him at all, beyond the two times we’ve seen each other, but...it could be worse. It could be the Marquess of Esthar, or the Duke of Dollet.”

Zell frowned and commented, “The Marquess of Esthar isn’t that bad. I consider him to be somewhat of a friend.”

“That may be, but I’ve heard he isn’t exactly amiable.”

“Well...no, I suppose not. He is rather hard to speak to,” Zell begrudgingly admitted.

She waved her hand in the air dismissively. “Anyway, my point is...as unfortunate as it is, what’s done is done. If the Marquess does indeed appear tomorrow to speak with my father, then...well, at least on the positive side, he’s respectable and responsible.”

“Hardly two words I’d ever use to describe him.”

“That’s not reassuring in the slightest, Zell.”

“Sorry, sorry.” He took her hands in his own, despite the fact that it was generally frowned upon to do so unless they were courting. Surprised, she glanced down at their joined hands, before meeting Zell’s bright blue eyes. “Quistis, promise me that if he ever treats you wrong, you’ll tell me. I know you’ve told me not to feel responsible, but I couldn’t ignore the guilt if he made for a bad husband.”

Warmth spread through her chest at Zell’s kind-heartedness. She smiled and said, “I promise, Zell. Thank you.”

He glanced at the door behind her. “I’ll let you speak to your father, then. If that’s what you prefer?”

She smiled and returned the gesture. “It is. It would be worse coming from you than from me, though I know that seems impossible to believe.”

With that, the Baron nodded and placed a chaste kiss on the top of her hand before returning to his carriage. As his coachman whipped the reins and the carriage lurched forward, Zell nodded once in Quistis’ direction. She raised her hand in farewell, and once he was gone from the driveway, Biggs opened the door for her and Selphie.

The second the door shut behind them, Selphie grabbed Quistis’ hand and darted directly in front of her. “M’lady, what are you going to do?” she hissed under her breath.

“The only thing I can do, Selphie.” As much as she didn’t wish to be married at all, she’d gotten herself into this mess, and knew that there was only one way out of it. Thanks to Zell’s reprimand, the Marquess now felt that it was his duty to marry her. If the few, brief glimpses of his personality that she’d gotten thus far rang true, he was every bit as likely to show up in the morning as he’d said.

“But, but, you don’t even know him!”

“I didn’t know any of the previous suitors, either. At least I’ve held a conversation with the Marquess. That’s more than I can say for anyone else,” Quistis mumbled, in an attempt to reassure both Selphie and herself.

“M’lady…”

“Selphie, please...stop. I know that you’re concerned, but I—” Quistis broke off and took a deep, shaky breath. “I’m more upset than I seem to be, trust me.”

“Oh dear, I’ve gone and made it worse, haven’t I?” Selphie exclaimed, stomping her foot in frustration.

Quistis reached up and touched her friend’s cheek in an attempt to comfort her. “I’m not sure that anything could have made this worse, Selphie, let alone you.”

“I know just the thing to get your mind off of this! At least, for tonight. It’s a good, piping hot bath! I’ll go and get it ready but, m’lady, are you going to go and tell your father?”

“I should at least try to warn him…”

Selphie winced, not unlike the way Zell had when Quistis had mentioned her father at the opera house. After a comforting squeeze of her hand, Selphie bounded off and headed upstairs. Once her handmaiden had disappeared down the hall, Quistis let out a long, drained sigh as she knocked on the door of her father’s study.

This wasn’t bound to end well.

* * *

  _The next morning._

Quistis woke to the sound of birds chirping, and the warm slant of the sun’s rays coming in through her arched window. Groggily, she cracked open her puffy eyes and squinted up at the brightness, irritated that the creatures of nature could start their day on such a positive note. Today was officially the end of her life as she knew it, and here they were, serenading her back to the land of rules and propriety.

Oh, how she wished she could tell propriety, responsibility, and frankly, all of society, to sod off.

With a groan, she turned away from the window and pulled her thick comforter over her head to block out the light. Not a minute later, her bedroom door cracked open and Selphie’s voice called out to her.

“M’lady, are you awake?”

She let out another groan, and Selphie giggled in response as she approached the bed. Gently, the blanket was tugged down, and Quistis opened her left eye to glare up at her handmaiden.

“I’m sorry, m’lady. We’ve got to get you ready. The Marquess sent a messenger ahead of time to let us know that he’d be here in a couple of hours.”

“Oh Hyne, don’t remind me,” Quistis grumble, reaching for the blanket again.

“I have to, m’lady. That’s my job,” Selphie replied, oddly cheerful considering the day’s impending event. She tugged the blanket back down, and finally, Quistis gave up.

After sitting up in bed, she stared despondently across the room as she mumbled, “How can you be so happy, Selphie?”

“Well, look at the bright side, m’lady. I get to go with you.”

Sharply, Quistis looked up at Selphie. “You do? Did my father agree to this? He told me last night that you’d have to remain here.”

During the entire fiasco, Quistis had seemed calm on the outside, taking it all in stride. Truthfully, on the inside, she’d been panicking. She knew that the Marquess was duty and honor-bound to marry her in order to save her reputation, and she’d clung to that knowledge in the immediate aftermath. It was simply duty, nothing more. In fact, that was exactly what her father had said when he’d first announced his stipulation that she marry within six months. Someone needed to inherit the Trepe line, and that someone couldn’t be Quistis.

She’d never made it a secret that marriage wasn’t what she wanted—or at least, marriage to a man who didn’t love her, or even remotely care to know what made her who she was. At first, she hadn’t taken things seriously, turning down every suitor that her father had managed to find. As the weeks passed, she came to realize how serious her father had truly been, and was slowly resigning herself to a life of unhappiness.

Last night at the opera, when Seifer’s strong, muscular arms had been around her, she’d come to understand just how desperate she was to escape that life of responsibility and duty. Feeling trapped and frantic in the face of her future, she’d kissed him back. Of course it would be that very act of desperation that would send her tumbling down the path she’d tried to avoid.

To top all of that off, her father had informed her that if the Marquess did in fact come to ask for her hand, that certain things would inevitably change. As a marchioness, she’d likely be appointed a new handmaiden, as well as learn how to run the Marquess’ household. Once she’d come of age, her mother had started transitioning certain tasks to Quistis’ supervision, so running a household didn’t particularly concern her. It was the change of handmaidens that did. Selphie had been with her since they were both young, and she couldn’t imagine moving to a new and unknown home without her friend by her side.

So, after Selphie had left her room last night, Quistis had finally let go. She’d cried over her lack of luck, about the imminent marriage she’d never wanted, over how lonely she’d be, and finally, over her own stupidity. Once the tears had subsided, she’d laid there in bed, staring up at the ceiling. Her thoughts wandered, and finally, she came to the decision that she would make the best of this situation. No, she hadn’t wanted this marriage. But at least he was a Marquess, he could give her a good home, and a good life. He wasn’t old and decrepit—in fact, he was actually rather handsome—and by Hyne could he kiss…

Selphie smiled and flounced down onto the bed beside Quistis. “Yes! He told me that he’d discuss things with the Marquess, but if you insisted on bringing me, he’d probably let you.” In a flurry of movement, Selphie sat up and placed her hand over Quistis’. “You’ll insist, right m’lady? I don’t want to stay here without you!”

“Oh Selphie, I could hardly go without you. Of course I’ll insist!”

Relieved, Selphie pushed herself up off the bed and held her hands out, palm up. “Well come on, then. Let’s get you ready for a marriage proposal!”

Over the next hour, Selphie made sure every inch of Quistis’ body was cleaned and shined to perfection. Her long, blonde waves were softer than a down feather, and perfectly coiffed up in a formal up-do, complete with pearl pins. Though she normally abided by the rules and wore dresses in more demure shades, when Selphie held up a gown that was a deep, rich crimson silk, a slow smile spread out across Quistis’ face. Let the Marquess know he wasn’t receiving a docile, prim and proper wife then, if that’s what he truly preferred. He’d commented on her love of propriety more than once, and what better way to shock him than appearing in this?

Selphie lifted it up and over her head, and once it was settled on her, she started buttoning the trail of fastenings that ran up along the back of the dress. Once she was finished, she procured a glossy ribbon in the same shade and tied it around Quistis’ waist, forming a neat bow in the back. Quistis reached for the long pair of white gloves that lay on her vanity, and concentrated on tugging them up to her elbows, while Selphie applied a light layer of makeup to her face. She’d never cared for makeup, but her friend insisted on accentuating her “already gorgeous features”. More often than not, she cut Selphie off after a bit of lip rouge and eye kohl. Anything more made it feel like she was wearing pounds upon pounds of product on her face.

When Selphie stepped back, she tilted her head from side to side as she inspected Quistis’ finished appearance. After she nodded in satisfaction, Quistis rose to her feet. As if on cue, a light knock rapped at the door and Selphie hurried over to it. When she opened it, Biggs was standing on the other side. Quistis opened the door and stood behind Selphie, which prompted a bow from the butler.

“Lady Trepe, your father wishes to see you in the drawing room. Your guest should be arriving within the next few minutes.”

“Thank you, Biggs. Tell my father I will be there momentarily.”

Biggs bowed again before heading back down the hall. Quistis and Selphie stepped out, and after closing the door, Selphie slipped her hand into Quistis’ as they followed the butler’s path. “M’lady, are you nervous?”

She hadn’t wanted to admit it aloud, but as she pressed her hand to her stomach, she found that it was shaking ever so slightly. “Perhaps a bit. What if Zell’s right and he’s an awful man, or expects me to stay home and knit doilies all day, or—”

Selphie rushed forward and grasped both of Quistis’ hands. “M’lady, don’t think that way! It’ll work out, you’ll see! After all, you enjoyed his company at the opera, didn’t you?”

“I suppose in more ways than one, yes…”

“Then it’ll be great! ‘Course a husband is pretty different from a regular man, but—”

“Thank you for the encouraging words, Selphie.” Quistis let out a deep sigh and added, “I don’t think we can stall any longer. Let’s go see my father.”

After they reached the bottom of the stairs, Biggs opened the door to the drawing room for them, and the girls headed inside. Viscount Trepe was standing at the opposite end of the room, facing away from them with his hands held behind his back. Selphie offered one last encouraging hug to Quistis, before joining the small gathering of servants that stood along the perimeter of the room.

Once Quistis was standing just behind her father in the middle of the room, she cleared her throat to gain his attention. Slowly, at a perfectly measured speed to keep his guest waiting longer than was polite, he faced his daughter. It was a measure of his control over the situation, and it never failed to irritate Quistis. The coarse hairs of his mustache twitched in displeasure when he took in the color of Quistis’ dress, as well as the risque shade of her lips, but he didn’t comment otherwise on her appearance; she surmised that he must’ve decided to choose his battles wisely today. After all, he was getting what he wanted out of her.

In his usual commanding, brisk tone, he said, “Marquess Almasy should be here within a quarter hour. Though it astounds me that you’ve managed to land yourself a fiancee who is a member of the peerage, I must applaud you for a job well done.”

The fact that her father had twisted his praise and congratulations into a backhanded compliment offended Quistis, and she bristled. Apparently, she wasn’t even deserving of an honest compliment. “It’s hardly a job well done to become engaged. He wasn’t some animal I needed to catch.”

“Oh, my daughter. He was exactly that. Considering the far from ideal reputation you managed to give yourself amongst the ton, I have to admit that ‘catching’ a husband was a challenge I did not expect you to overcome. Even if it was in a manner less than proper.”

Surprise overtook Quistis, and she repeated, “A manner less than proper? What do you mean?”

She hadn’t told her father last night exactly how she and the Marquess had come to be acquainted. She’d simply said that he could expect a visit from the Marquess in the morning, provided he’d meant what he’d said. Livid at first at the unexpected delivery of her news, his anger had quickly transformed into satisfaction at the knowledge that his lineage would continue on, and that for once, his headstrong and wayward daughter had actually done as he’d asked. So how did he find out about what had happened at the opera?

“I have my informants, Quistis. While I didn’t specify how you needed to find a husband, I would’ve expected you to exercise caution, and to exhibit decorum in your search. Throwing yourself to a marquess in his private box is hardly proper.”

Quistis gasped at her father’s words, and his harsh judgment of her character. He’d never been a kind father; he wasn’t prone to offering affection, praise, or encouragement, but he’d never been downright cruel. The fact that he was more willing to believe his “informants” over his own daughter, and to basically outright call her a whore, hurt more than she’d ever thought it could have.

“Forgive me, father,” she muttered, her voice shaking with both hurt and anger. “Perhaps you should have specified, then. I was under the impression you didn’t care what I did, or who I married, so long as I was out of the house within six months.”

“You’re right, I didn’t. But somehow, you managed to disappoint me still,” he replied, his expression devoid of any emotion.

Quistis blinked back the sudden sting of tears, before clenching her jaw. Before she had a chance to respond, Biggs knocked at the door to the drawing room, entering once her father called out to him.

Their loyal butler adjusted his tailcoat and pulled his shoulders back, standing prim and proper in the doorway. “My lord, the Marquess of Balamb is here to see Lady Trepe.”

“Let him in,” Viscount Trepe instructed, beckoning for Quistis to stand by his side. Though it left a bitter taste in her mouth to stand at her father’s side so soon after he rebuked her, she acquiesced and folded her hands in front of her once she’d faced the door.

Biggs moved out of the doorway and bowed, holding his arm out to the side. Marquess Almasy, in all of his tailored, suited glory, stepped into the room, removing his top hat before inclining his head in her father’s direction. Afterwards, he approached Quistis and bowed a bit deeper than he had in greeting to the Viscount, grasping her gloved hand in his to plant a kiss on top. Surprised, her mouth fell open briefly before she closed it with a snap.

Was this truly the same man she’d met before? Gone was the playful, flirtatious man she’d met on two occasions. This man was the very picture of decorum and propriety.

“Lady Trepe, it is a pleasure to see you again,” he greeted in his deep baritone. His gaze flickered up to hers, and she caught a brief glimpse of the brilliant shade of his irises before he looked to her father.

“Viscount Trepe, if you would be so kind as to grant us a moment alone?”

The corner of her father’s lips twitched, before he gestured for the servants to exit the room. Following after them, he paused in the doorway and gave Quistis a single, terse nod, before closing the door behind him. Somehow, his last command to her before leaving the room irritated her even further, and she subconsciously tightened her grip on the Marquess’ hand.

When he winced, she immediately dropped her hand. “I’m so sorry, my lord, I didn’t—”

“It’s quite all right. You caught me more by surprise than anything.”

She cleared her throat nervously as he took a step back. His eyes drifted down her body, from the perfectly styled up-do to the hem of her dress. It felt like he was undressing her with his eyes, and this time when she cleared her throat, it was sharper than the last. “Marquess Almasy.”

A slow grin spread out across his face as he lifted his eyes to hers. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t expecting you to wear such an...adventurous color.”

I suppose I asked for that, she reprimanded herself. On the other hand, there was the man she knew.

“I’ve been told that red looks good on me,” she offered in a nonchalant manner. From anyone else, it might sound as if they were fishing for compliments. To Quistis, it truly didn’t matter. She’d been told time and time again that she was beautiful, that her figure left little to be desired for she was the epitome of desire itself, and so on, so forth. By this point in her life, they were just words.

“That it does,” he murmured, and the deep caress of his voice swirled around her, threatening to pull her in. He’d had much the same effect on her at the opera house, and she cursed herself for acting like a weak-minded female in his presence. It could only harm her to succumb to his charms, as she’d already discovered.

So, defensively, she snapped at him. “I’m afraid we’re not married yet. It’s hardly appropriate for you to be commenting on my appearance in such a lewd manner, my lord.”

At the tone of her voice, he narrowed his eyes. “I am quite aware of that, Lady Trepe. I was simply trying to lessen the tension between us. Listen, this proposal can go one of two ways: I can attempt to be romantic for your sake, or we can bicker our way through it, leaving you with a less than ideal memory of the day you got engaged. I hear women are sentimentally attached to things like that. Your choice.”

“Why don’t you surprise me?” she sneered, irked at his arrogancy.

“Very well, then. You and I will wed in a fortnight. It will be a short engagement, simply for the sake of preserving what little is left of your reputation. You will move into my estate immediately after, so pack your things before the wedding. Do you have any requests?”

By this point, Quistis was nearly shaking with uncontrollable anger. “That sounded more like a demand than a proposal, my lord.”

“That’s because that’s exactly what it was.”

“How are you any different from my father, then? Is this how our marriage is going to be? You ordering me about and I’m just supposed to listen to you?” she demanded.

“Oh, I knew from the first moment I saw you in those gardens that you were not a woman who could be controlled. At the time, it excited me, it aroused me.” Quistis gasped at his forwardness. Seifer took a step forward and grabbed her chin. “While I can see that you’re going to be a handful, I would never dream of caging you and expect you to listen to my every command. In fact, you would disappoint me if you did.”

She tried to pull away, but he didn’t loosen his grip. “Your ‘proposal’ did little to reassure me of your character, my lord.”

Finally, he let go of her chin and stepped back, running his hand through his hair. His fingers left wide grooves in his golden locks, and he sighed when he looked at her again. “I apologize. Somehow, you rile me up more than anyone else I’ve ever known.”

Uncertain what to make of that, Quistis’ gaze flitted about the room before meeting the Marquess’ again. “I admit to the same,” she whispered.

Slowly, as if he didn’t wish to spook her, he stepped forward again. When he stood just before her, he reached out and ran the back of his hand down her cheek. “I know that it’s no consolation, but I didn’t want this either.”

Another flare of anger surged through her, and she indignantly mumbled, “That doesn’t help in the slightest.”

As if he’d expected her to accept his pseudo-apology, he let out an irritated sigh and backed away, throwing his hands up in the air before letting them drop to his hips. Pacing away from her, he shook his head and muttered something under his breath.

Quistis raised an eyebrow and in a stiff tone of voice, pressed, “What was that, my lord?”

A sharp exhale left him, and he whirled around to glare at her. “Nothing,” he spat.

She refused to buy that and crossed her arms, returning his heated stare. A few seconds passed before he strode over to her so quickly that she backed up a few steps in surprise. He reached into his coat pocket and withdrew a small, navy blue, velvet box.

After thrusting it into her hand, he declared, “Despite the fact that both of us would rather remain single forever, fate has decided otherwise for us. Here. Take your Hyne-damned bauble, and I suppose I shall see you at the altar!”

With that, he spun on his heel and marched out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

She stood there, frozen in shock at his abrupt and rather rude departure. I suppose that was his version of a proposal. What a lucky woman I am, she thought bitterly.

A few seconds passed with her seething in anger as she absentmindedly rubbed the soft surface of the box. Eventually, her curiosity won her over and she opened it, intrigued by what could be inside. Somehow, the concept of jewelry hadn’t even crossed her mind. When she saw the ring that lay nested within, she gasped.

A large, oval opal rested in the center of the ring, flanked all around by a multitude of sparkling diamonds. The glistening clear gemstones looked like the petals of a flower, and the rose gold band caused the colored veins of the opal to pop even more. It was absolutely breathtaking, and not even remotely close to what she’d expected. In fact, she’d expected not to receive a ring at all.

As she traced the circular edge of the opal, alone in her father’s grandiose drawing room, she whispered dejectedly, “Well...I suppose I’m getting married, then.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter could've easily gone one of two ways. I could've had them not marry, and had subsequent chapters fleshing out their awkward and tense relationship. However, considering the way they were found and that if Quistis herself hadn't told her father, Zell would have, it seemed more likely that they'd have to marry. Also, I read a novel once where the main characters were forced to wed and learning to love one another made for quite a thrilling and fluffy experience. So I decided to go that route. Hope you guys like the path I chose :x
> 
> Many thanks to StarryNight101 and Strings805 for beta-reading :) And thank you to everyone who reads this story!


	6. In Want of a Wife or Husband—Not!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The wedding and...what comes after?

It is a well-known fact that nearly every woman dreamt of her wedding day since she was a little girl. From which flowers would line the aisle, to the flavor of the hors d'oeuvres her guests would enjoy, each detail was a vital decision that reflected the woman's individuality, as well her groom's willingness to make her happy in every regard. A wedding was not just a legal agreement between two people, but a communion in every sense of the word. Two people with different dreams and wishes, in completely different places in life, would come together and share things that they'd never shared with anyone before; two lives would fuse into one. It sounded terrifying when worded in such a way, but what made the stress and shock of leaving the familiar comforts of one's life behind for a new one entirely, was the love that person felt for their intended.

Every bride fantasized about the look on her future husband's face when he saw her in her wedding dress for the first time. She daydreamed about the way the sunlight would stream into the church, and the jovial expressions on the faces of their family members as they surrounded them on their special day. Many brides also imagined how it would be  _after_ the wedding, when she and her new husband were alone in their bedroom, and preparing to unite in a way that was sacred and holy in its own right.

For Quistis, all of those girlhood dreams and expectations had been thrown out the window. As she stood alone in the bridal suite of Deling City's Church of Hyne, she smoothed her hands down her dress, admiring her reflection in the floor-length mirror that stood before her. With a passive expression, she took in her dress, which was made of decadent blush-pink silk, and covered from top to bottom in cream-colored lace. Intricate beadwork and embroidery decorated the bosom, and ran along the hem in a scalloped pattern. She had to admit that, despite how miserable the "happiest day of her life" had turned out, she  _did_ think her dress was beautiful.

With a sigh, she sank down onto the tufted ottoman behind her. From outside the door, she could hear the muted sound of their guests milling about the church, and she pressed her mouth into a thin line as a wave of anxiety washed over her. Selphie was supposed to appear at any moment to finish putting her hair up, and she waited both patiently and impatiently for her handmaiden to appear. Part of her wished that Selphie would never show up, and she could hide away in this room until everyone she knew went home. But the other part of her wished that she could just get this over with as quickly as possible, then she and her husband could move on with their lives. Whether they would mutually avoid one another on a daily basis was yet to be seen, and Quistis clenched her hands in her lap at the thought of how utterly miserable the rest of her life would likely be. If the past two weeks were any indication of her future, she didn't think she was too far off from reality.

Since they'd announced their engagement, Quistis had seen her fiancé a total of two times. The first was the day after their engagement, when he'd returned to Trepe Manor to speak to her father in private. On his way out the door, he'd informed her that he would have his coach return in an hour or two to take her into the city.

"After all," he'd noted, "you need a dress to get married in, don't you?"

He'd said it without a smile, and in such a blasé tone, that it had irritated her instead of making her feel grateful for his consideration. If he didn't wish to do things for her out of  _true_  kindness, then why did he bother to do them at all? Did he simply feel obligated to? It reminded her of his proposal, and how he'd given her such a beautiful ring with so much sentimentality behind it, only to ruin it with his brusque attitude.

The memory only served to annoy her again, and she rose to her feet before pacing around the tiny room. It only took her a minute to complete one revolution, and feeling suddenly drained, she paused by the single window and stared out at the street. If she weren't getting married to a man she most definitely did not love, let alone barely knew, she might've thought it was a beautiful spring day. The irony of the fact that she'd ended up right where she'd tried to avoid being was not lost on her.

Outside the window, multiple carriages rushed back and forth down the road, and Quistis could practically feel the frenzy from where she stood. A massive tree with wide-reaching branches stood just beside the church, and its canopy of leaves stretched over her view, casting shadows across the yard. The white blossoms of the tree had already begun to dwindle, signaling the transition from late spring to early summer, and only a handful of petals remained. Absentmindedly, she watched a few of them float down from the branches to below the window, and a slight smile teased at the corners of her lips.

The sound of the door opening interrupted her moment of peace, and she looked back over her shoulder. Selphie, looking frantic with multiple strands of hair sticking straight up in the air, rushed into the room and quickly shut the door behind her.

"I'm so sorry, m'lady. I had to run back to the manor to get your gloves, and there were so many more people here than when I left, and—"

Quistis held up her hand, interrupting Selphie. "It's quite all right, Selphie. After all, they can't get started without me, can they?"

She tried to offer a playful smile after she'd spoken, but it fell flat, and Selphie's expression crumpled when she noticed. Tactfully, she chose not to mention it, and instead said, "I suppose that's true, miss. Well, come on, then. Let's get you finished up so you can get this over with!"

"You know, the amusing thing is that..." Quistis trailed off as sat down on the ottoman again, and while Selphie's fingers threaded through her hair, she finished, "I was just thinking the same thing."

* * *

On the opposite side of the church in the groom's chambers, Seifer stood in front of his own mirror, tugging on the lapels of his tuxedo. Ever since he and his valet, Raijin, had arrived a couple of hours ago, he'd been fidgeting with his suit. When he reached down and pulled on his left sleeve, Raijin looked at him reprovingly and chided, "Sir, if you continue to do that, I'd imagine that your tuxedo would  _become_  lopsided, you know?"

Seifer rolled his eyes at his friend. "I highly doubt that a tuxedo designed by Lady Ellone could fall apart so easily."

"Yes, well, just because you're acquainted with the Marquess' sister, it doesn't mean she'll simply hand you another suit for free." Raijin moved in front of Seifer, brushing his charge's shoulders with a lint brush as he finished, "And most certainly not an hour before you're to be wed."

At the unnecessary reminder of his impending nuptials—or loss of freedom, as he saw it—Seifer cringed. "Ah, yes…there is that."

Briefly, Raijin locked eyes with Seifer before moving behind him to continue dusting the wide expanse of his broad shoulders. "Perhaps she will not be so bad, you know? I've heard people speak of her, and it seems as if the consensus is a positive one—generally speaking."

"Did you ask only women?"

Raijin paused. "No, sir. Why would you think that?"

"Because if you'd asked men, then you would've arrived at an entirely different consensus."

"You must be speaking of her nickname."

"Indeed," replied Seifer, rolling his shoulders once Raijin moved away and set the brush down on the table.

"May I speak frankly, sir?"

Intrigued at Raijin's tone, he looked up and met his friend's gaze. Normally, Raijin wouldn't bother to ask for permission to speak openly. He simply did it. "Yes…"

"I do not believe that Lady Trepe is as cold as the ton seems to think she is. I can hardly believe that any lady could be so aloof and rude—or at least, not naturally. If she truly is the way people say she is, I would think that she'd have good reason. Perhaps someone in the ton treated her unfairly? Or—"

Seifer held up his hand, preventing Raijin from finishing his train of thought. "I know exactly what it is, Rai. She's simply fed up with society and its rules. By this point in time, I believe she's had nothing short of five or six marriage proposals—all of which she's turned down."

His friend's eyebrows cinched together, as if he couldn't fathom why in the world a lady would do such a thing. When Seifer saw his expression, he continued on to say, "For whatever reason, she's chosen not to marry." As soon as the words left his mouth, he realized where exactly it was that he was standing, as well as what he was about to do. "Good Hyne, man. We're about to get  _married_ —the very last thing she ever wanted to do. Exactly how miserable is the rest of my life going to be?"

Raijin shot a sympathetic look in his direction, and Seifer began to pace around the room. "Is she going to glare daggers at me every time I so much as look at her? I mean, I  _am_  a man; we are to be husband and wife. Does she expect me to never lay a hand on her? Or if I do, is she going to ignore me every time we're in the same room together afterwards?"

He wrung his hands in the hair, and that was when the door to the room opened. Zell stepped inside and spotted Seifer pacing anxiously, mumbling obscenities to himself, and occasionally glaring up at the ceiling. When the Baron looked at Raijin for answers, the valet explained, "My lord is experiencing what I believe is called 'cold feet'."

Seifer whirled around and pointed at Raijin. "I am  _not_  getting cold feet. I am simply facing reality, and getting extremely  _pissed off_  about it."

"What are you on about, Almasy?" Zell questioned, shutting the door behind him.

"This! This whole...farce! I am getting married, Dincht, to a woman who wants nothing to do with me!" Seifer railed, pacing even faster.

"For the love of Hyne, stand still. You're making me dizzy," Zell mumbled, closing his eyes. When the sound of Seifer's brisk footsteps came to a stop, Zell looked Seifer in the eye and said, "Listen. It's true that Quistis didn't exactly want to marry you, but you got yourselves into this situation. Whether you want it to or not, this is happening. The best thing you both can do is to simply accept it, and  _help_  each other; talk to one another."

"I'm expected to consummate the marriage. You know that, right? How the hell am I supposed to do that if she wants nothing to do with me?"

Zell sighed and crossed his arms. "I know this is going to sound strange, but you could always try courting her."

"Court my own wife?" Seifer repeated slowly, sounding exasperated with Zell for even suggesting such an absurd idea.

"Yes, Almasy, court your own wife. You don't know her, she doesn't know you. But if she  _did_ , consummating the marriage would likely seem a lot less...awful. It might make her happier than if you tried to force yourself on her—especially tonight."

Again, Seifer threw his hands up in the air. "Wonderful. I can't even bed my own wife on my wedding night."

"Women are fickle creatures, but it'll be worth your time—s _he'll_  be worth your time."

For some reason, Zell's statement sparked Seifer's anger, and his gaze shot up to meet Zell's. He switched tangents and accused, "Are you telling me that you  _know_  she's worth my time? How exactly would you know that, Dincht? Have you...have you experienced her for yourself?"

Zell's expression transformed from hopeful to completely aghast, and he had to quickly backpedal as Seifer stalked towards him. "No, no! That's not what I'm implying at all! I simply meant that Quistis is a wonderful person, one of the best that I know, and if you take your time to get to know her, she'd be worth the wait! Good Hyne, man, don't—"

Seifer wrapped his arm around Zell and pulled his friend's head down, grinding his knuckles into Zell's skull. When Zell cried out, Seifer grumbled, "That better be what you meant, Chickenwuss, because I swear to Hyne, if it wasn't—"

In a muffled voice, Zell cried, "It was! It was! I meant nothing more than that!"

When Seifer released him, Zell stumbled back and attempted to reshape his hair, running his fingers frantically through it. He glared up at Seifer and said, "I asked you not to call me that anymore!"

"It seemed appropriate, all things considered," Seifer replied, and Raijin snickered from the corner of the room. When Zell shot a glare in Raijin's direction, Seifer's valet masked his laughter with a cough.

Seifer faced the mirror again and adjusted his jacket, letting out a deep sigh through his nose. Raijin and Zell must've sensed the shift in his mood, because a few seconds later, their reflections joined Seifer's in the mirror. Both of his friends stood on either side of him, in a visual display of support on what was supposed to be a joyful event.

Raijin patted his charge on the back and left the room, claiming he was going to check on the proceedings outside. Once the door shut behind him, a few seconds of silence passed before Zell laid a hand on Seifer's shoulder. "It will work out, Almasy.  _I_ believe that to be true with every fiber of my being. Now you have to believe it, too. "

Seifer met Zell's gaze in the mirror. His uncertainty must have been visible on his face, because Zell squeezed his shoulder in reassurance. Finally, Seifer nodded and mumbled, "You'd better be right, Dincht."

* * *

Selphie stuck her head into the room and announced, "M'lady...it's time."

Quistis lifted her eyes from the engagement ring on her finger and met Selphie's gaze. She offered a curt nod and rose to her feet, gliding gracefully across the room to stand in front of Selphie. Her friend held out her hand, offering support, and Quistis took it with a contrite smile.

"Lead the way, Selphie," she instructed in a soft voice.

They made their way along the back hallway of the church as it wound its way outside. Soon enough, they emerged into the blinding sunlight, and Quistis saw her father standing beside the church's doors. He gave her a reprimanding look—likely thinking she took far too long—before pointing at a spot on the ground right next to him.

When she tensed at his unspoken demand, Selphie laid her hand gently on Quistis' forearm. "Just think, miss. After today, you'll be free of your father," Selphie whispered.

"Thank Hyne," Quistis mumbled back.

Far too soon, Selphie was handing her over to Viscount Trepe. He linked their arms and, just as she suspected he would, he murmured, "You couldn't have shown up to your own wedding on time, Quistis?"

"What does it matter, Father? Whether it's now or five minutes ago, you'll be free of me by the end of the day. I'll have done exactly as you wanted," she sniped, cooly looking away from him and into the church.

With a sneer, he turned them to face the interior of the church. Up ahead behind the altar, the priest signaled for the organist to begin playing. Deep, booming chords echoed throughout the church, and the entire congregation stood in one cohesive motion. When everyone was on their feet and facing the open doorway expectantly, Quistis and her father moved forward, pausing for a second between steps. Once they'd passed the first row of guests, the organ quieted down and the harpist began strumming, filling the space with romantic, soft music.

The entire time they made their way up the aisle, Quistis kept her eyes trained on the ground. She just couldn't bring herself to look at her future husband; a part of her was terrified to see him waiting for her at the end of the aisle. Granted, the entire situation felt rather final, but that last thing, the sight of a man she barely knew waiting for her to say "I do", drove everything home for her.

Finally, they reached the end of the aisle and she was forced to look up. Her gaze immediately honed in on Seifer, who was standing to the right of the priest. He filled out the shoulders of his neatly pressed tailcoat so well, that she had a hard time looking away. Eventually though, her eyes drifted to his face and she sucked in a tiny breath at how incredibly handsome he looked. Though the expression on his face was less than welcoming, she could understand where he was coming from. She couldn't help herself from appreciating the long, straight edge of his nose, or the prominent line of his jaw.

Much to his credit, he offered a smile when their eyes met—even if it was a tad bit tight. Her father pulled her gloved hand towards Seifer's, and once their hands were clasped, he gave Quistis a chaste kiss on her temple and backed away. She stepped up onto the slightly raised platform that Seifer was standing on, and he connected their other hands as well. Their guests sat back down and once the final chord from the harp dissipated, the priest began.

"We are gathered here today to celebrate the union of his lord, the Marquess of Balamb, Seifer Almasy, to Lady Quistis Trepe of Deling City. Surrounded by friends and family, we…"

The sound of the priest's voice faded into the background as Quistis' eyes fell to their joined hands. He had strong, masculine hands, the tops were crisscrossed with pronounced veins. His skin wasn't nearly as fair as her own, a slightly lighter shade of bronze rather than the pale side of the moon. Begrudgingly, she admitted that it only served to further his allure.

She was lost in thought for so long that she didn't realize they'd reached the vows. When Seifer opened his mouth and softly said, "I do", her gaze shot up to his. The corner of his lips quirked upwards, and he looked at her in a way that meant he knew that she hadn't been paying attention. Feeling frazzled, her eyes darted around before landing on the priest. Her panic must've been visible, because Seifer squeezed her hands in reassurance. It seemed like a lot of people felt the need to do that today.

"And you, Lady Trepe? Do you take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband? In sickness and in health, until death do you part?"

A lump formed in her throat, and she struggled to swallow it down enough to say her part. "I...I do."

"Then I now pronounce you...husband and wife! Ladies and gentlemen, Marquess and Marchioness Almasy of Balamb!"

Applause rang throughout the church as Seifer bent down and placed a gentle kiss on Quistis' lips. She did little to reciprocate, though it was more out of shock than an actual lack of desire to. By the time she fully realized what was happening, she and Seifer were walking back down the aisle and out of the church.

His open carriage was waiting for them, and they made their way over to it, surrounded by friends and family who were throwing petals into the air. Quistis had to remind herself to smile. After all, wasn't that what newly wedded brides were supposed to do? It was difficult, though, considering everything felt like it was moving in slow motion. It felt as if she were a bystander, witnessing the first phase of her life disappear into the past, unable to process anything but her fear of the coming days.

Once they reached the carriage, Quistis gave her mother and father very brief, dispassionate hugs, and Seifer offered his hand to her. She gave him a small, thankful smile, which he politely returned, and she climbed into the coach. Not long after, he waved to the crowd and sat down beside her, instructing his driver to take off.

The minute the church faded into the distance, Quistis began to feel the panic settle in. She was  _married_  now, for Hyne's sake. The very thing she had been trying to avoid had happened, and all because she'd salaciously agreed to take the Marquess'—no, her husband's—suggestion and throw caution to the wind. Despite that, she knew she couldn't blame him entirely. It was half her fault that they were now riding to his townhouse in the heart of the city, where they would stay for a week before packing their things and moving into his estate in Balamb.

Though the ride was a short one, neither one of them said anything the entire time. Quistis was wrapped up in her own thoughts, and it seemed as if Seifer was as well. The one time she'd considered saying something to him, she'd glanced at him, only to find that he was staring in the opposite direction, the slight furrow of his brows marring his otherwise smooth forehead. His expression alone had been enough to discourage her from speaking up, and she'd resumed staring off in her own direction, dreading the moment they'd arrive.

Eventually, the carriage pulled up to an elaborate residence, complete with two stone lions flanking the deep mahogany front door. Someone had lit the sconces on either side of the entrance before their arrival, making the facade appear welcoming and cozy. The purposefully pre-established mood helped relieve some of the nerves that was causing her stomach to roil, and she made a mental note to ask who had done it so that she could thank them later.

Seifer climbed out of the carriage first and made his way around to Quistis' side. Once the footman had pulled down the steps, her new husband offered his hand to her once more with an impassive expression. Feeling oddly incensed at the look on his face, she moved to step down from the carriage without his help, but her foot slipped and she careened sideways off of the rung.

He darted forward and wound his arms around her slim waist to pull her back. As he went to place her back down on solid ground, he slowly slid her body down his own. They were pressed so closely, she could feel the hard ridges of his muscles underneath his wedding clothes. Though it left her flustered and blushing—from the smirk on his face, she  _knew_  he noticed—she tried to hide it with attitude.

"I was doing perfectly fine. I didn't need your help," she told him indignantly.

"I'm sure. Is that why you nearly fell on your face?" he quipped, and the corner of his mouth twitched upwards.

Now thoroughly irritated, she let out a huff and pushed out of his arms, stalking towards the front door. The sound of quick footsteps behind her caused her to whirl back around, and she was surprised to see that Seifer was nearly upon her. She knew he was tall, but he must've had a far longer-reaching stride than she'd anticipated.

When he stood just in front of her, he placed his hand on her lower back and guided her up to the door, asking, "Don't you remember that it's tradition for the groom to carry his bride over the threshold?"

A gasp escaped her, and she glared up at him. "You wouldn't  _dare_."

His response was a low, foreboding chuckle. When he next spoke, he leaned down to whisper directly in her ear. "Oh, my dear  _wife_. You've much to learn about me." The second the words left his lips, and before she had time to prepare, he scooped her up in his arms and the door opened with perfect timing to reveal his valet.

"Welcome home, my lord—and of course, my lady," Raijin greeted.

With a jovial smile, Seifer carried a protesting Quistis through the doorway and into the marbled foyer. The second they were standing in the center of the room, Quistis pounded on his shoulder and demanded, "Put me down!"

His smile widened, and he replied, "Very well," before pretending to drop her in his arms. As predicted, her arms shot around his neck and she actually _squealed_  before he tightened his grip on her again. She shot him a glare and he chuckled before setting her down on her feet.

The second she was standing solidly on the ground, she stepped away from him and crossed her arms tightly over her chest. "If you aren't going to listen to me when I ask you something, I can tell you right now that our marriage is going to be a rather unhappy one," Quistis retorted, her expression tight with anger.

"Oh, is that so?" Seifer's previously amiable mood disappeared, and his posture now mirrored hers. "I believe that you and I both fall into the category of 'difficult to tame'. If  _you_  believe that I'm going to acquiesce to your every request, simply because I'm your husband, you are in for a very rude awakening,  _Marchioness_  of Balamb."

Quistis didn't respond, choosing instead to glare at him in silence. While they were locked in their little staredown, Raijin sidled up to Seifer and whispered something in his charge's ear. When Seifer nodded, Raijin backpedaled to stand against the wall once more.

After a few more tense seconds, Seifer explained in a tight voice, "My valet informs me that your handmaiden is now finished with putting your things away in your room. If you'd like, I can show you the way."

"Yes, I  _would_  like that," she replied, in an equally terse tone of voice.

Without another word, Seifer pivoted on his heel and strode across the foyer, his heels clicking against the polished marble. Their footsteps echoed throughout the expansive space, and he led her towards the curved grand staircase on the opposite end of the room. As they ascended, she trailed her hand along the gleaming balustrade, unable to stop herself from admiring the quality of the wood, despite the tension in the air. For a temporary residence, the townhome was quite a bit more lavish than she'd expected it to be.

When they reached the second floor landing, he turned left and they made their way down an equally opulent hallway. The carpet was incredibly plush, and their steps were nearly impossible to hear, which was a stark contrast to the entryway.

Finally, they reached the end of the hall and Seifer faced her before gesturing to the closed door on his right. "These are your chambers. I'll give you time to explore them at your own leisure, and I'm sure your handmaiden is already familiar with what's inside." Then he gestured to the door on his left. "These are my quarters. They are also accessible through your rooms by an adjoining door. If, within the next few hours, you've calmed down, I would love for you to come to my room, and we can...converse—get to know one another. Once the sun sets, and you feel ready, knock on the door."

Quistis' lower abdomen clenched in nervous expectation. She was sure she knew  _exactly_  what he meant by "get to know one another", and though she understood that that was now part of her wifely duties, she was both dreading and anticipating it. Part of her knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that he would never force her to do anything she didn't wish to do. It was true that she didn't know him very well, but the two brief, very personal encounters before their marriage had shown her enough of his character for her to trust him at least that much.

However, he was still a man, and she knew that very, very well. It was their wedding night, and he was likely expecting to receive the  _prize_  that he felt he deserved. To be fair, she couldn't begrudge him his legal right, but what if it was horrible? What if it... _hurt_? What if she absolutely hated it, and grew to hate  _him_  in return? It wasn't a life she wished to live, but she couldn't see any way out of it. She could try to prolong the inevitable, but it was a useless endeavor, and she knew that as well.

Unable to form a response, she simply nodded, and though Seifer returned the gesture, she could've sworn she heard him let out the tiniest sigh at her lack of communication. "Very well, then. I will see you in a few hours, my lady," he murmured.

As he moved to walk past her, he paused when he was standing right beside her. Gently, almost hesitantly, he reached out and grasped her hand, lifting it to his lips to plant a chaste kiss on the top of her hand. Surprised, she turned to him and gazed up into his clear, enchanting eyes. A tentative smile teased at the corners of his lips, and, touched by the thoughtfulness in his gesture, she returned it.

Once he let go of her hand, he made his way back down the hall, and down the stairs to the first floor. The second he disappeared from her view, she opened the door to her chambers and hurried inside, closing the door behind her before leaning against it. Her eyes slid shut and she took a deep breath through her nose, trying to calm her racing heart and mind.

"M'lady?"

Quistis' eyes shot open, and when she realized that Selphie was standing in front of her with a concerned and curious expression on her face, she rushed forward and enveloped her friend in her arms. "Selphie! Thank  _Hyne_  you're here."

"Well of course, m'lady. You  _did_  say I could come with you, didn't you?" Selphie asked, her arms wrapped around her charge.

"Of course I did. I just—I might be panicking a bit. I'm supposed to head over to the Marquess' chambers tonight for... _you know_. I don't know what to do. I mean, I know what to  _do_ , but—"

Selphie pulled out of Quistis' embrace and gripped her friend's shoulders tightly. "M'lady, listen to me. You're making it worse by going over everything in your head like this, and you do this every time. Take a deep breath, and we'll take our time gettin' you ready for his lordship. Just talk to him about your concerns. I'm sure he'll listen to you."

"But what if he gets impatient at the fact that I'm so inexperienced, and then he becomes angry at me? I mean,  _look_  at him, Selphie. He's a Marquess,  _and_  he's handsome. I'm sure he's had plenty of women before me." Quistis broke off and started pacing around the room, her slender, perfect eyebrows furrowed. "Curse society for expecting women to be virgins on their wedding night! If I'd just fooled around before today, I wouldn't be nearly as nervous or worried."

Selphie raised an eyebrow at her. "Be realistic, m'lady."

Quistis sighed and flopped into the armchair beside the bay window. "I know, I know," she replied, throwing her arm over her eyes. "Society will never allow women to be free souls and do as we please. I was simply mourning something I will never have."

Selphie twisted her mouth up in discouraged agreement, before bounding over to Quistis and grabbing her friend's hands. "Come on, miss! Let me show you around your room, get your mind off of all this until it's time to get ready!"

At first, Quistis didn't budge, but Selphie's optimism was unrelenting. When her friend tugged on her hands again, she finally rose to her feet with a resigned sigh that transformed into a fond smile; Selphie always knew how to pull her out of the doom and gloom.

Over the next hour, Selphie dragged her all around her chambers, pointing out every little amenity that her rooms contained. The door from the hallway led into the main living area of her rooms, which was complete with luxurious furniture and a massive fireplace that was also open to her bedroom. A couple of small bookshelves were pushed up against the wall, and Quistis was genuinely excited to have the chance to relax, doing something  _she_  wanted to do. To be able to read while sitting in the window seat, which had a perfect view of the gardens below, sounded absolutely wonderful. Her father had never been willing to buy her new books, claiming that she had far more important things to be focusing on, like finding a husband.

A narrow door led the way to her actual bedroom, and once they passed through the doorway, she gasped at the sight that greeted them. The largest four-poster bed she'd ever seen sat directly in the center of the room, complete with maroon velvet curtains that were currently tied to the posts. Underneath the velvet curtains, sheer lace curtains lent the bed a mysterious, romantic air, and Quistis immediately fell in love with it. It was something she'd always dreamed of having, and she couldn't believe that  _this_  was what needed to happen in order for her to get one.

On the far wall, next to another door, was a mahogany dresser that matched the wood of the bed. The fireplace that opened up to both rooms sat across from the bed itself, and on the opposite wall, beside the windows, rested a gorgeous vanity that was paired with an equally luxurious chair. Overall, the room was far more than she'd ever expected from her new husband. Gratitude spread through her, and a hint of a smile teased at the corners of her lips.

_I'll have to be sure to thank him later,_ she mused. At the thought of "later", her previous nerves crept back in and she fiddled with her fingers as she gradually turned in a circle, taking in every aspect of the room. Once she stood beside the bed, she slowly traced the elaborate carvings on one of the posts, distracted by her thoughts.

Selphie remained by the fireplace, watching her charge with a blank expression. Eventually, she asked, "What do you think, m'lady? It's rather grand, isn't it?"

A soft chuckle left Quistis, and she turned to look back at Selphie. "It is indeed grand," she agreed in a quiet voice.

Selphie tilted her head. "Do you not like it, miss?"

"Oh no, I do. I was just...thinking about later. Again."

A frown took over Selphie's face, and she suggested, "What do you say we start gettin' you ready? Maybe the ritual of things will help calm you down?"

"Perhaps," she mumbled.

Selphie wasn't having any of her dismal mood, and her handmaiden gently led her towards the vanity against the other wall. "It'll be just like this morning, m'lady—only better!"

"How is this  _better_?" Quistis questioned as Selphie leaned down to pull her wedding dress up and over her head, and she winced as it snagged on a few of the pins in her hair.

Once the dress was off and Selphie had laid it over the back of the chair, she started on the long process of unlacing Quistis' corset. Quistis reveled in the feeling of her breath returning to her lungs as the corset gradually loosened, and the second it was off, Selphie tossed it aside with a  _hmph_! Her antics elicited a giggle from Quistis, and now that she was clad only in her shift, she sank down into the chair so that Selphie could pull all of the pins out of her hair.

Her handmaiden worked in silence, and the only sound that filled the room was the quiet  _plink_  as Selphie tossed each pin onto the vanity's surface. With each pin she removed, a thick strand of Quistis' blonde hair was freed, and eventually, all of her hair fell to her shoulders in perfect waves. As Selphie brushed through her hair, she softly commented, "Your hair is so beautiful in waves, m'lady."

"Thank you, Selphie. It takes far too much work to get it to look like this, though. I couldn't subject you to that every single morning," Quistis replied with a smile.

Selphie laughed and said, "If your husband ends up liking them, I'd gladly do it for you, miss."

Her smile faltered. "We'll see, I suppose."

Selphie paused in her actions and briefly squeezed Quistis' shoulder in reassurance. Once she was finished brushing her hair, she swept all of it to the side so that it laid over Quistis' right shoulder, offering an air of sultriness that she didn't normally exude. More often than not, her hair was up in a tight chignon, because she preferred it to be out of her face. There were probably no more than four people in the ton who had ever seen her with her hair down: her father, her mother, Selphie, and Zell—though Zell had likely only had that opportunity once or twice, and it had been in their younger years.

While Quistis was lost in the past, Selphie had gone to the dresser to retrieve something. When she reappeared in the mirror, Quistis met her friend's gaze in the reflection, then lowered her eyes to the silky nightgown that was now in her hand. Slowly, Selphie unfolded it and held it up against her body so that Quistis could see it in all of its glory.

Like her wedding gown, it was a soft peach, almost blush pink color, lined at the edges with white lace. It was beautiful, but there wasn't much to it, and after she rose to her feet and Selphie pulled it over her head, she saw that the hem only made it to her upper thigh. Out of reflex, she tugged at the bottom of it in an attempt to cover more of her most private area, only to find that there just wasn't enough material to do so.

Selphie grabbed her hands, stilling them, and quietly said, "It'll be all right, miss. I'm sure he'll be kind and gentle with you."

She let out a shaky breath and met her friend's gaze. "But what if he isn't?"

"Then we'll deal with that then. There's no sense in making him up to be this horrid monster in your mind, because it could ruin the entire thing. You've got to approach it with an open mind! I  _know_  you can do that. You always do, and you do it better than anyone else, m'lady."

Overcome with nerves, Quistis pulled her hands back and faced the window, hoping for some aesthetic relief. When she saw that the sun was nearly below the horizon now, throwing the gardens into shadow, and causing the sky to appear as it were on fire, she inhaled deeply before slowly letting it out through her mouth. "I don't suppose I can put it off any longer, can I?" she whispered.

From behind her, Selphie murmured, "No m'lady, I think not."

A few seconds passed before Quistis whispered, "All right. Let's get this over with, then."

She assumed that the door on the other side of the room was the adjoining door that Seifer had spoken of, and she made her way over to it with clammy hands. As she passed by the dresser, she grabbed a robe out of it and wrapped herself in it for some added protection. She knew that by the end of the night, it would make little difference, but if it helped lessen her anxiety in this moment, then she had to try  _some_ thing.

When she finally felt semi-ready—who was she kidding, she was nowhere near ready—she pulled the robe tighter around her body, and raised her hand to knock on the door. Just before her knuckles made contact, she hesitated.

Behind her, Selphie quietly encouraged, "You can do it, m'lady."

Quistis glanced over her shoulder at Selphie, and when her friend smiled encouragingly, she nodded and turned back to the door.  _I can do this. I know that I can._

This time, she knocked firmly before letting her arm drop to her side. Within seconds, she heard the deep timbre of Seifer's voice call out from beyond the door, and she knew that she couldn't go back now.

"Come in."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thanks to Strings805 and StarryNight101 for beta-reading.
> 
> I know I don't update as often as everyone would like, so I just wanted to thank everyone who still reads this ;)
> 
> See you guys next time!


	7. The White Wind of Pure, Elevating Passion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter earns the explicit rating.

At her husband's invitation, Quistis stepped forward into the room and softly shut the door behind her. As she took in a breath that rattled its way down into her lungs, she glanced around the room, only to realize that it was incredibly dark. The decadent velvet curtains had been drawn shut, and the only illumination came from the crackling flames that burned in the hearth to her right.

Her eyes had yet to adjust to the lack of light, and she squinted in an attempt to make out the details of the room. A sofa sat just in front of the fireplace, and she could see Seifer's long legs stretched out before him. He had his arm draped over the back of the lounger, and from the way the fire lit up only half of his face, she surmised that he was looking in her general direction.

On the opposite side of the room, a wide door frame led to where she assumed the bed was. The reminder of what awaited her there in what was likely mere minutes, caused her to shiver in anticipation, though she wasn't entirely sure whether it was borne out of fear or something else.

Aside from the doorframe, she couldn't quite discern what else was in the room. Figuring it wasn't important and that she couldn't stall any longer, she shifted her gaze back to her husband's still form in front of the hearth. He had indeed been looking at her when she'd first walked into the room; he was now facing the fire and she could only see his profile.

Hesitantly, she made her way over to him. He never once looked up at her as she traipsed across the room, and she fiddled nervously with her fingers as she approached him. It wasn't until she stood just before him that he finally turned and met her gaze.

The warm blaze turned his normally bright, aquamarine eyes into a shade that was infinitely darker—closer to the color of the sky at twilight, when the vivid blue of the afternoon began to fade into a soft periwinkle that was tinged at the edges with navy. Not only was it a breathtakingly beautiful shade, but it was alluring, mysterious, and she felt like she was being pulled into their depths.

His sudden motion of setting something down beside him pulled Quistis out of her reverie, and she blinked before focusing her gaze on what he'd put down. A thick tome now rested on the couch next to him; he must've been reading.

Unsure of what else she could say to ease the awkward tension in the room, she cleared her throat and gestured to the book. "I didn't meant to interrupt you," she muttered.

Her voice came out hoarse and deeper than usual. She couldn't remember the last time she'd had something to drink, and she hoped that he didn't think she was trying to sound seductive. That had never been something she'd been good at—at least, not intentionally—and she most certainly wasn't ready for whatever might follow from that train of thought.

At her question, Seifer glanced over at the book before meeting her eyes again. In a voice equally as muted as hers, he replied, "You didn't. I was simply passing the time as I waited for you."

Quistis nodded, and in a bout of nervousness, pulled her robe tighter around her body. The motion caused his eyes to flicker down over her body, though he didn't say anything about her appearance. In one fluid motion, he rose to his feet and picked up the book before carrying it over to a taller, more ornate bookshelf than the one that sat in her own room. With a level of certainty that implied he knew where every volume belonged on those shelves, he returned the book to its rightful place before facing her again.

After leaning against the bookshelf, he crossed one ankle over the other, then crossed his arms over his chest. Silently, he inspected her from across the room. She shuffled in place under his scrutiny, feeling more incensed as each second passed without him saying anything to her.

Eventually, when she could take the silence no longer, she spat, "I am not a painting to be gawked at."

"I never said that you were," he responded, sounding perfectly calm, which only served to irritated Quistis more.

"You didn't have to. You've been standing there, staring at me, for the better part of the last few minutes. Are you ever going to _say_ anything?"

"What would you like me to say, my dear, lovely wife?" he asked as he pushed off of the bookshelf and made his way over to a table that rested on the opposite end of the fireplace.

Frustrated, she threw her hands up before resting them on her hips. "I do not know! You were the one who wanted to 'get to know one another'. _You_ asked me to come here and—"

She was interrupted by the faint clinking of glass, and the popping sound of a stopper being removed echoed throughout the room. Her train of thought interrupted, she called out, " _What_ are you doing?"

The sound of liquid being poured was followed by Seifer setting down something heavy, and a few seconds later, he turned around with two small glasses in his hand. "Getting us something to drink. I'll be frank with you, _dear_ , you sound like you need something a bit stronger than water at the moment."

Miffed, Quistis flicked her bangs out of her eyes and crossed her arms. "Are you trying to say that I seem tense?"

A short, dry laugh left him and he made his way over to her before holding out one of the glasses. "No. You don't _seem_ tense, you _are_ tense. I can practically feel your nerves on end from across the room. You're like a cat with its hackles raised. I'm not going to try and hold a conversation with you when you're like this."

Unsure of whether she should feel offended at his stark observation, or relieved that he was offering her a solution to her nervousness, she gingerly took the glass from him, being careful not to touch him for longer than necessary. She wasn't sure whether he noticed her hesitancy or not, but he didn't comment on it. He merely gestured to the couch behind her. After a moment, she followed his cue and sank down onto it, tucking her right leg underneath her.

Seifer followed suit and took a sip of his drink—brandy, from the smell of it. Quistis noted that it seemed like a rather long sip, and commented, "Are you rather fond of your drink, Marquess Almasy?"

After he swallowed, the corner of his lips curled up in amusement. "For starters, you're going to have to call me by my name eventually. And yes, I do enjoy a drink most nights before I get into bed. But you've no cause for worry, dearest. I'm by no means an addict."

"Will you stop calling me that?"

"Calling you what?"

"Dear, dearest; whatever name you seem to fancy at the moment. I may be your wife, but we are by no means familiar enough with each other for pet names," Quistis mumbled before taking a sip of her own drink.

The warm, headiness of the brandy curled around her tongue and as she swallowed it, she made a sound of approval that prompted Seifer to look over at her. He never responded to her reprimand, and instead, he changed the subject.

"Do you like it?" he asked, his voice wrapping around her like a warm embrace.

"I do. It's very strong, but it's smoother than I anticipated."

"The French know what they're doing," he agreed, lifting his glass to take another sip.

Her gaze flitted upwards to his face and she watched him swallow, noting the rise and fall of the bump in his throat. He'd tilted his head back to take a drink, and she was able to see more of the tanned skin of his throat than usual since it was unimpeded by his cravat. He had a prominent adam's apple, and the sight of it brought an unbidden vision of her running a finger over it, feeling the soft, forbidden expanse of his neck.

Catching herself in her own fantasy, she blinked rapidly before dropping her gaze to her own glass.

He'd been more than accommodating to her, all things considered. Not only did he let her make most of the decisions regarding the wedding's decor, but he'd also given her the space she'd very much needed when they'd first arrived at his townhouse earlier. He had no reason to be so kind to her; he'd had every right to dictate every part of the day, down to skipping the ceremony entirely. But he'd chosen to give her some semblance of a wedding celebration, and even now, he wasn't rushing her.

She knew she was being unnecessarily abrasive towards him, and with a sigh, she looked back up at him. He'd been staring at her, though she hadn't noticed, so when she glanced up, their eyes met. After a moment of hesitation, she said, "I'm sorry that I'm being so rude. I don't mean to. I'm just...I suppose I'm nervous, amongst other things."

"I don't blame you. It's been a long day. Hell, it's been a long few weeks," he agreed, before facing the fireplace.

A slight chuckle left her. "That it has," she whispered, studying his profile.

She supposed she was lucky. He wasn't old and decrepit, and to be quite honest, he was incredibly handsome. At least he didn't have warts. Aside from his snarkiness, which only made an appearance occasionally, he was rather amiable. Looking back on all of the other suitors she'd had to deal with, he was the only one who managed to engage her in a conversation that didn't bore her to tears. In fact, it was quite the opposite. On all of the occasions they'd been in each other's presence, life had been...exciting, different.

_He_ was different.

It had taken this long for her to notice, but yes, he was indeed different. When she spoke, he actually listened to what she had to say. Not only that, but he responded without the filtering she knew some of the members of the ton used when they talked to her. He was genuine, real, and honest. Sometimes _too_ honest, but she couldn't exactly fault him for that. Despite the fact that he was already engaged, he still followed protocol and married her when they'd been discovered.

That had surprised her.

He seemed like the type of person who disregarded rules, and did what he wanted to do—no matter the consequence. In fact, she'd already seen that firsthand. Granted, Zell had backed them into a corner in this particular situation, but he still could've gone through with his initial engagement.

Yet he hadn't. He'd chosen to break ties with Miss Caraway and marry _her_ instead. Why? Why had he chosen her? He knew her reputation for turning down each and every suitor. He had to know what they'd said about her, that she was difficult and unsuited to make a fine wife. What were his reasons?

Gently, she set her glass down on the floor in front of the sofa. He glanced over at her, a silent question in his eyes. With a deep breath, she turned in her seat and faced him fully, prompting him to lean back so he could do the same.

"You said that you wanted us to get to know each other better, yes?" Quistis asked, awaiting his reply with bated breath.

"Yes…"

"If you meant that—"

He interrupted her and said, "I did. I mean everything I say."

"Good. In that case, may I ask you something?"

"Of course. You can always ask me anything you wish to know." With a dry laugh, he added, "You have that right now."

"But I do not want you to answer because you feel _obligated_ to. I want you to answer honestly."

"My dearest wife, you'll learn quite quickly that I never feel obligated to do anything. But very well. I promise to answer as honestly as I can. Ask your question."

Quistis' lips twitched at "dearest wife", but she decided to let it slide this time, in lieu of more important matters. Suddenly nervous, she shifted in her seat. "Do you—I just—Damn it all. Why did you marry me?"

He raised his eyebrows, though whether it was because of her colorful language or her question, she wasn't sure. "I had to, which you are well aware of," he replied.

"Yes, I know the _reason_ why we had to marry. But I wish to know why you agreed. You could've easily left me in the dust and continued on with your engagement to Miss Caraway."

"You know as well as I do that Zell would never have let that happen. If I hadn't agreed to marry you, he would've told your father himself, and society's rules dictate that a compromised woman must be made honest. I _had_ to marry you."

"But if you truly cared for Miss Caraway, you _could have_ married her still. Being a man of privilege in this society would've given you that right."

"Well, for one, I have no wish to meet your father at dawn for a duel. But mostly, I didn't wish to marry Miss Caraway. In fact, I didn't wish to marry at all."

"I can relate to that." Quistis' gaze flickered downwards before meeting his again. "Why didn't you want to marry Miss Caraway?"

"We didn't suit," he explained with a shrug. "Within ten minutes of being in her presence, I was already beginning to feel annoyed with her. I can't even begin to imagine how being married to her must be."

"Then why would you agree to marry _me_? It isn't as if you know me any better."

With a sharp exhalation, he rose to his feet and trekked back to the table across the room. He uncapped his decanter of brandy before pouring himself another glass. In one gulp, he downed its contents and brought the glass back down to the table in a rougher-than-necessary motion. He whirled around, and the sudden motion startled Quistis.

"Do you always ask so many questions?" He didn't sound _angry_ , but he had lost his prior cordiality.

"When I want to know the answer to something, yes. I believe the pursuit of knowledge is a right we all have."

Seifer waved his hand in the air dismissively before bracing himself on the table behind him with his palms. " _Why_ do you wish to know?"

"Why do I wish to know what your motives were for marrying me?"

"Yes. Tell me _that_ , and I will answer your question."

"Tit-for-tat. Fair enough." Quistis rotated on the couch, swinging her legs down and planting her feet on the carpet. "I want to know whether you married me for only my looks, like all the other men wanted me for, or whether you...whether you actually…"

She trailed off, suddenly feeling like an insecure little girl for even feeling the need to ask him for clarification. If she actually said, "whether you married me because you actually liked me", he'd know that she harbored ridiculous dreams of marrying for love. This was reality, not a fairy tale, and people simply did not do that. If she said the words aloud, and his answer was what she dreaded it would be, it would mean that her worst nightmare had come true.

"Whether I...what?" Seifer asked softly, ambling across the room to stand just before her.

She had to crane her neck back to look up at him. "Whether you...married me because you actually enjoyed my company."

"That's not _really_ what you wanted to ask me, is it?"

_How could he possibly know that?_ A beat passed before she admitted, "No. It isn't."

"Well, then, go on. Ask me what you really wish to know." He continued to loom over her, making her equal parts flustered and anxious.

Her mouth was dry, and she snaked her tongue out to wet her lips. "I just...Did you marry me because you actually liked me?" she breathed, squeezing her eyes shut once the question left her and could never be retracted.

Silence was her immediate response, and she felt tears welling in her eyes at the lack of confirmation. Whether it was what she feared he'd say, or Hyne-forbid, the opposite, she needed him to say _something_.

When she felt the warmth of his skin on her hand, she jerked back in surprise before her eyes flew open. His expression was open and inviting, and when he wrapped his fingers around her hand, tugging slightly, she acquiesced and rose to her feet.

With an amount of tenderness that belied his normally brusque personality, he caressed her cheek as he stared into her eyes. "If I kiss you, will it offend you?"

"I wouldn't be _offended_ , no, but I don't see what that has to do with you wanting to marry me."

"It's...part of the reason. Just trust me, and I'll explain afterwards," he murmured.

Quistis inspected his face, seeking any semblance of a lie in his expression. It was difficult to place anything other than open honesty in his eyes, so despite the lingering hesitancy she still felt, she nodded.

Slowly, he leaned in and brushed his lips against hers ever so slightly, eliciting a faint gasp from her. Seemingly emboldened by her response, he cupped the back of her head and pulled her closer, deepening the kiss. He slid his tongue into her mouth, and when it teased along the tip of hers, she trembled at the way it made her feel: breathless, and tight with anticipation.

Sooner than she would've thought, he pulled away and leaned back to look down into her eyes. After a second of trying to reorient herself, Quistis asked, "So you married me because you like kissing me?"

Seifer chuckled, low and sensual. "That's not quite the way I'd put it," he replied, before pulling her by the hand towards the inner part of the bedroom. "I married you because, despite how many women I've kissed before you, it has never felt quite like _that_."

Doubtful, she raised an eyebrow at him. "Is that one of those 'lines' you men use on women to make them swoon?"

Once they stood just before the bed, he faced her head-on. In a serious tone of voice, he said, "No, it isn't. I was telling the truth, Quistis. I'd be lying if I told you I never enjoyed kissing other women; I _am_ a man. But from the few times we've spoken to each other, it's clear to me that there is something... _more_ about you. Whether it's your sharp retorts or your lack of trepidation over sharing your rather unpopular opinions, _something_ about you intrigues me.

"Every time we've seen each other, I am left wanting to discover more of what makes you who you are. You are so unlike any other woman in the ton that I have ever met, and that _excites_ me."

His confession caused Quistis' breath to catch in her throat. Of all the things he could've said his reasons were, that hadn't been what she'd expected. He took a step towards her, and she had to crane her neck back slightly in order to continue meeting his gaze.

Again, he reached up and cradled her cheek. "The way that we come together when we kiss is simply an added bonus. And—" His hand traced her hairline to the base of her neck, and the featherlight touch caused her to shiver. "—I've wanted to see your hair down like this since the first moment I laid eyes on you."

Confused, she tried to pull away, feeling her insecurity morph into something more akin to anger. "So what you're telling me is that you _did_ marry me for my beauty."

Seifer furrowed his eyebrows, letting his hands drop to his sides. "That's what you took away from all of that? For Hyne's sake, woman, I was trying to explain to you that that was only partially true."

She crossed her arms and glared at him. "It's only partially true that you're like all the other men who tried to ask for my hand?"

A sigh left him as he ran his hand down his face. He mumbled something that sounded suspiciously like, "Are all women this difficult?", before returning her glare in full-force. "I would have to be _blind_ to say that you aren't beautiful. Unless you prefer me to tell you that you are some atrocious hag with wrinkles and a crooked nose, I'd rather tell the truth."

She opened her mouth to retort, but he held up his hand, cutting her off. "Let me finish, Quistis. Yes, you are beautiful, and yes, I am attracted to you in the physical sense. _However_ , what I've been trying to tell you over the past few minutes, is that I also married you because you are the only woman I've ever cared to hold a conversation with. I won't lie to you and say that I've never _been_ with a woman. But as soon as the sun rises the next morning, I want her out that door. I don't care to know her life story, or what pet she has at home, or even what her favorite color is."

Her gaze dropped to the floor when he finished speaking, and she fiddled with her fingers as she looked back up at him. "So what you're telling me...is that you want to know all those things about _me_?"

"Yes," he breathed with an exasperated sigh. "As infuriating as you can be, that is _exactly_ what I am saying."

Astounded by his admission, and left reeling that she had finally found someone who cared about her for who she was, Quistis didn't know what to do. After inspecting the fibers of the rather plush rug that rested beneath their feet, she took a step towards Seifer, trying to show him that this time, it was her that was accepting him.

He watched her with hooded eyes that were colored darker by both uncertainty, and the simmering blaze of lust that currently lay dormant from their kiss earlier. When she stood just before him, she slipped her fingers into his, intertwining them before staring up into his eyes.

"I can't even begin to tell you how much that means to me," she whispered.

His only response was the clenching of his jaw, and hesitantly, she reached up to cradle it with her hand, running her palm across the slight stubble that hadn't been there this morning—or perhaps she'd been so distracted by everything else going on that she just hadn't noticed.

When she neared his chin, she traced the remaining edge of his jawline with her index finger, gradually making her way closer to his mouth. The second her fingernail grazed the corner of his lips, he let out a shaky breath through his nose as his eyes slid shut, and he tucked his face back into her palm.

"If you continue doing that, Quistis, I won't be able to hold back any longer," Seifer warned in a low voice. The sound of her name leaving his lips in such an intimate way made her shiver with need.

Matching his tone, she questioned, " _Have_ you been holding back?"

He opened his eyes again, and the bright turquoise of his irises were ablaze with renewed desire. "With you...always."

Her lower abdomen tightened with want and anticipation, and she quietly said, "Perhaps I no longer want you to."

Faster than she'd seen him move before, he encircled her wrist with his fingers; the warmth from his touch seeped into her very being, and she gasped in surprise. After placing a kiss on the soft skin of her wrist, he murmured, "If you _are_ sure, there is no coming back from this point. If you do not want this to happen, now is the time for you to say so."

His words caused a tremor of uncertainty to move through her body, but when she opened her mouth to say that perhaps they should stop here tonight, the words never left her. It was then that she realized that she didn't _want_ things to stop. This was something she felt she had the right to enjoy—something that she _deserved_. Before today, she had been terrified that she'd be forever trapped in a loveless marriage, in which she would have to "endure" her wifely duties. With Seifer...that didn't seem to be the likely case. Why _shouldn't_ she take advantage of the opportunity?

After all, like he'd said, it was her right now. She was his wife, and if it were at all possible to enjoy the part of marriage she'd been taught to dread, she felt like she had the best chance of that with _him_.

Holding her head high and looking straight into his eyes so he knew she understood the ramifications of her decision, she stated, "I don't want to stop."

He planted another kiss on her wrist before trailing down her arm. When he reached the juncture of her elbow, she could've sworn he licked the delicate skin there ever so softly, but the sensation was so brief and faint, that she wasn't entirely sure.

Without a word, he cupped her elbows and pulled her back with him towards the bed. When they were close enough that he could've easily sat down on the edge—in a motion that was so excruciatingly slow that she was sure he was trying to drive her crazy—he slid her thin robe off her shoulders, letting it pool on the ground.

Now, she stood before him in nothing more than her thin, peach chemise. Feeling suddenly shy, she clasped her hands together in front of her, nibbling on her lower lip as she felt his eyes on her. He must've sensed her unease, because he grasped her hands in his and gently stroked his fingers over her skin.

When her heart had calmed down a bit and it didn't feel like it was pounding in her chest, she squeezed his hands back and offered a hesitant smile. He returned it and sat down on the bed, pulling her closer so that she stood in between his legs. It was the first time she'd ever been this _intimately_ close to a man. Sure, when they'd kissed in the past, she'd been pressed up against the length of his body, but somehow, this felt different.

It felt more personal, more emotional—as if they were the first two people in the world to connect in such a manner.

His hands slid up the length of her arms and moved to circle her waist. She placed her hands on top of his forearms, letting out a shaky breath as he pulled her down towards his face. Their lips met, and though it was rather chaste in comparison to the previous one, it still set her heart aflutter. It was akin to an unspoken promise, and her grip tightened on his arms in anticipation.

In response, he deepened the kiss, wrapping his arms fully around her in a tight embrace. The kiss went on for long enough that Quistis had to pull back for air; her breathless gasp petered out in the space between them, and Seifer nuzzled her collarbone as she tried to ease her heart rate.

"Is kissing always like this?" she questioned, breathlessly.

He chuckled, and his breath tickled her chest as he murmured, "No...no it isn't."

He leaned back and pulled off the rest of his previously untied cravat before tossing it to the floor. Wasting no time, he shrugged out of his tailcoat and draped it over the short bench that rested at the end of the bed.

When Quistis looked at him in surprise, he replied, "Raijin would kill me for throwing _all_ of my clothes onto the floor. He's rather nitpicky about the quality of my appearance."

She laughed and he smiled fondly, before adding, "You really should laugh more."

Her smile faded, though it was more out of astonishment than any sort of anger. While she was growing up, her mother constantly told her to smile _less_ , that a man wouldn't want a wife who was flighty and ridiculous. As a result, by the time she was old enough to experience her first season, she couldn't remember the last time she'd truly smiled around anyone in the ton—Selphie being the exception.

Yet here Seifer was, encouraging her to smile _more_. She couldn't comprehend it, so instead of ruminating on it, she decided to ask. "Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why should I smile more? What would that change?"

He furrowed his eyebrows, looking genuinely confused as to why she'd asked such a question. After rising to his feet, he cupped her cheeks as he stared into her eyes with an intensity that, yet again, surprised her. "Why _not_? When you smile, _you_ change. You are always beautiful, and I'm sure you've been told that time and time again. But there is something different about not only your face, but your... _presence_ , when you smile." He stroked her cheekbones gently as a grin teased at the corner of his lips. " _That_ is why you should do it more often."

Before she had a chance to respond, he leaned down and captured her lips in a kiss. This one was meant to make her swoon, to make everything else in the world fall away and leave nothing but the two of them standing here, in this room, together.

She ran her hands up his body, cursing the fact that he was still wearing so many more layers than she was. He must've caught on to her train of thought, because he let out a short laugh and leaned back to pull his shirt out from his waistband. When he peeled it off and tossed it aside, Quistis was taken aback by the sight that greeted her.

Hesitantly, she ran her hands down his strong chest, and the rippling muscles of his stomach. She should've seen it coming, considering how handsome and clearly in shape he was, but seeing the evidence for herself was a different thing altogether.

When her nails grazed his skin, he sucked in a sharp breath, causing her to glance up at him. Again, he circled her wrists in his hands, but this time he brought them back up to his chest. Beneath his skin, she could feel the pounding beat of his heart, and she looked up at him with a silent question in her eyes.

"That's what you do to me without even knowing it," he murmured.

Struck by a sudden bout of confidence, she stretched up on her toes and planted a chaste kiss along his jawline, paying extra attention to the way his heart rate increased. When he clenched his jaw in response, she rocked back onto her heels and in awe, commented, "You weren't lying."

"I would never," he replied. "Not about that, at least."

In slow motion, almost as if he were afraid to spook her, he lifted the hem of her chemise, maintaining eye contact with her the entire time. Once it was off and she was completely exposed, he gently let it fall to the floor, raking his eyes over her body from head to toe. A few seconds passed without him saying a word, and Quistis shuffled in place, feeling uncomfortably bare.

Her movement prompted him to meet her gaze again, and in a tight voice, he asked, "Do you even fully understand what you do to me?"

She shook her head, unsure of where he was going with his question. He mirrored the action, as if in disbelief of her response, and reached out to grab her hand. After tugging her forward a bit, he placed her hand on his groin. He was hard and warm under her palm, and she glanced up at him in surprise.

" _That_ is what you do to me. Do not ever feel like you are inferior to anyone else, or that you deserve anything less than the best."

Touched, tears welled in Quistis' eyes, and she nodded ever so slightly. "Thank you...Seifer."

His only response was to reach up and tuck a strand of her hair behind her ear, before cupping her cheek. "I'm going to let you control the pace we go at. Right now, I want nothing more than to throw you down on that bed and ravish you until morning, but that isn't what would be best, I'd imagine. What do _you_ want, Quistis?"

Her gaze darted around the room with uncertainty—she wanted _more_ , that much she knew, but how did she move forward, and where did she take it from here? What was normal in this situation? She was touched that he was willing to let her take control, but she'd never done this before.

He must've picked up on her inner turmoil because he ran his thumb along her jaw to grab her attention. When she looked at him, he added, "You're thinking of too many things at once. Start with what you _feel_. What does your body tell you that you want? That you _need_?"

She closed her eyes, shutting out the outside world and doing exactly as he asked: listening to her own body and its signals. Her abdomen was tight with anticipation, and there was a simmering heat in her core that desperately needed more of... _him_.

She opened her eyes again and looked straight into his before hooking her fingers in his waistband and pulling him closer. "You."

"Well, you have me, darling. Whatever will you _do_ with me?" he asked with a crooked grin.

Slowly, she mirrored his expression and moved her fingers around to the clasp of his slacks. She undid the clip with deft fingers, and slid them underneath his waistband. So quickly that she didn't even realized he'd moved yet, he grabbed her hands and said, "If you take these off, Quistis, I will be as naked as you are."

His statement caused her to pause for the briefest of moments, before she steeled herself and tugged his trousers down inch by inch. He released her hands and straightened, watching her with sharp eyes as he was finally revealed to her.

Like when his bare chest was exposed, Quistis eyes lingered on her newfound discovery. His member was prominent, erect, and larger than she'd expected. Suddenly nervous, she glanced up at him and he smirked at her expression.

"Though your reaction is flattering, you've no cause for worry. I promise it will fit," he teased.

Quistis felt a blush creep across her cheeks at being caught; he knew she was inexperienced, but to have him point out her ignorance was embarrassing.

"I wasn't worried," she replied indignantly.

"Of course you weren't," he murmured in response, intertwining their fingers as he kneeled on the bed, pulling her down with him.

They fell back onto the covers, and Seifer placed his hands on her hips, guiding her over him as she shyly straddled him. When his erect member brushed against her core, she gasped and rose up on her knees, reflexively shying away from him.

He stroked his fingers along her spine, murmuring under his breath, "Quistis, look at me. It's all right."

With frantic eyes, she stared down at him, trying to concentrate on the color of his irises rather than everything else going on—such as how close their naked bodies were, or how warm the room seemed to have become within the past few minutes.

As he continued to caress her bare skin, he stated, "If you don't want to do this, we don't have to."

"I thought we _did_ haveto consummate the marriage."

"Eventually, people may question whether we have or haven't, but it isn't any of their business. If you aren't ready for it to happen tonight, it doesn't have to be tonight."

Unsure, she bit her bottom lip, going over the pros and cons of the situation in her mind. Gently, Seifer reached over and grasped her hands, pulling them over from beside him to rest on his chest with her fingers splayed out.

"Just _feel_. Take a moment and revel in the way your body is experiencing things. If you ever feel overwhelmed, let me know. We can take a step back, or stop entirely if that is what you wish," he said, sweeping her hair over her shoulder before cupping the back of her head. "Though I won't lie, I personally would like to continue."

Taking his advice, she closed her eyes and took a couple of deep breaths, concentrating on the warmth emanating from him—his hand on her back, and the other behind her neck; his length against her core, and the sound of his breathing, intermingling with her own erratic breaths.

As she was trying to calm herself down, his hand on her back moved and she felt his arm encircle her waist. With gentle, slow movements, he shifted her to the side and switched their positions so that he was now holding himself above her, and her back was pressed to the soft, plumose blanket.

She opened her eyes and he cradled her face with his hand, staring into what felt like the depths of her soul. His erection brushed against her yet again, and it felt like his warmth was searing into her thigh. Her hands shot up to his upper arms in reflex, though she felt significantly less panicked than she did the first time it happened.

"Do you feel better now?"

Quistis nodded and offered a slight smile. "Yes, I think so."

He nodded as well. "I am going to try and take this further, but if you ever feel overwhelmed again, let me know."

"All right," she whispered, nervous, but feeling anxious to move forward. Up until this moment, it felt like they'd been stalling, circling around each other without ever meeting in the middle. Even she, despite her inexperience, could feel that it was time to push forward.

He leaned down, keeping their eyes locked as he hovered over her pert nipples, breathing out softly as he looked up at her from under thick lashes. An errant thought that men didn't deserve such alluring eyelashes flitted across her mind, until his tongue snaked out and teased her nipple, causing her to gasp and arch her back in response. The wetness on her skin immediately cooled, and sent shockwaves of pleasure rolling through her lower abdomen. Any previous thought she'd had quickly disappeared.

Without giving her time to recover, he moved across to the other nipple and gave it the same treatment, smiling against her skin when he received the same response. After she relaxed and her back touched the blanket again, his tongue roved down along the length of her torso until he reached her navel. He swirled it around the indent, and she gripped his shoulders tightly, unaware of where he would go next.

When he slid her slender legs over his shoulders and leaned in, his breath tickling her inner thighs, she tensed and craned her neck to peer down at him. "What are you—"

"Do you trust me, Quistis?" Seifer asked, his face poised just above her sex.

It was both unnerving and disconcerting to have him so close to a place that no one had ever been before. Yes, oddly enough, she _did_ trust him. But it was beyond her comprehension that a man would do that for a woman—and for pleasure, nonetheless.

"I...Yes, I do."

"Then lay back and let me do this for you," he murmured, planting kisses along the sensitive skin of her inner thigh.

With difficulty, she did as he asked and draped her arm over her forehead, tense with anticipation. Since she was no longer looking directly at him, she had no warning of what was to come. When the wet, rough texture of his tongue slid along the length of her folds, a jolt of pure pleasure shot straight to her core, and her arms flew down to him. She threaded her fingers through the fine strands of his hair, tightening her grip when he repeated the motion.

"Oh, Hyne…" She trailed off, her words catching her throat. They were replaced by a breathless moan, and she squeezed her eyes shut, unable to find her bearings.

It felt like she was drowning in pleasure, in the way that he was making her feel. At one point, she felt on the verge of being overwhelmed by her body's reaction to his incredibly talented tongue, and she breathed, "Seifer, Seifer…"

He eased up and planted kisses around the edge of her sex, rather than focusing on her clit. After a few seconds, he asked, "Do you want me to stop?"

"No, no, no. Don't stop. I just...I just need a second."

"If I _don't_ stop, it will get even better. I promise," he murmured against her skin.

"Better? It gets _better_ than this?" Quistis questioned, staring up at the velvet canopy above her in disbelief.

His chuckle tickled her thigh. "Oh, my innocent wife. You just have to trust me, remember?"

He shifted his body slightly, and this time, instead of circling her clit with his tongue, it slid into her, causing her to jump in surprise. A wave of pleasure washed over her—so different from the quicker pulses she felt when he licked higher up—and she gripped his hair again before letting out a throaty moan.

Quistis never knew quite what he was going to do, and he kept her just on the verge by alternated between thrusting his tongue into her sex, and teasing her clit. After a few minutes of his rapt attention, she noticed the desire in her lower belly curling into something taut with tension, inexplicable to someone who had never experienced it before.

Her calves tensed, and her grip in his hair tightened. "Seifer, I—"

He paused to say, "Stop thinking about everything so much, Quistis. I want you to focus on the way you feel right now, but don't tense up. Don't hold yourself back."

_I—What? What does he mean?_ She tried to listen to his advice, but his tongue was no longer slowly circling her clit. He was flicking it in quick, precise motions, and she was fighting to catch her breath. When he slid a finger into her, she reflexively tightened around him as she cried out in surprise.

He slid his finger in and out, unrelenting with his tongue, and when she arched her back, he murmured, "You just have to let go, love. I will catch you, don't worry."

He continued with his ministrations, and a few seconds later, the tight string within her snapped. A flood of staggering pleasure unlike anything she'd ever felt before spread through her. She cried out his name as she threw her head back, reeling as she fought to return to reality.

She wasn't sure exactly how much time passed before she opened her eyes again, and he was hovering over her, smoothing her hair back away from her face. Sluggishly, she reached up and placed her hand over his. "Is that how it always is?"

A lopsided, rakish grin spread across his face. "We haven't even gotten to the main part of it, yet."

"What?" she asked in disbelief.

"I needed to try and get you as relaxed as possible, and I wanted you to know what to expect."

Shaking her head in confusion, she replied, "I was told it would hurt. That most certainly did not hurt."

"Well, it _will_ hurt, but only for a brief moment. Then, it _should_ feel like what you just experienced."

"Truly?"

"Again, I wouldn't lie to you, darling. You trust me, yes?"

"Yes," she responded without hesitation.

Seifer shifted, placing himself between her legs and lifting her right leg to rest against his waist. "You have to try not to tense up. It will be difficult, because that's what you'll naturally want to do, but try to take deep breaths."

"O-Okay."

He moved his hips forward, and she felt the blunt head of his member push against her folds. The sensation was rather uncomfortable, and she shifted on the covers, unconsciously trying to scoot farther away from him. His grip on her leg tightened, and he let out a short puff of air that sounded the slightest bit frustrated.

"Sorry, I...I don't know what I was doing. I suppose I'm nervous," she replied, placing her hands on his forearms.

Unexpectedly, he leaned down and placed his lips on hers, coaxing her mouth open to slide his tongue inside. Caught off guard, she barely had a second to reciprocate before he pulled away again, and said, "I know. You don't have to apologize. Just _trust me_."

She nodded, resting her hand on his cheek briefly. "I do."

He traced soft circles on her ankle with his thumb as he gave her a few seconds to prepare, and then pushed forth again. This time, he slid farther into her, and she tried not to move away from him. Inch by inch, he entered her, and when he was about halfway in, he leaned down again and settled his cheek against hers.

"This is where it will hurt. If you need to, you can hang onto me," he murmured, his breath flittering across her ear.

"All right."

Though he'd warned her, he didn't move right away. The second she wondered why he was waiting, in one quick motion, he drove his hips forward, entering her to the hilt. It was an _extremely_ uncomfortable feeling—more akin to slightly just _too_ much pressure—but it didn't necessarily _hurt_ , like he'd warned her it would. She placed her hands on his back, reveling in the feel of his muscles shifting and tensing beneath her fingers.

Eventually, he leaned away from her so that he could look into her eyes. "Are you all right?"

"It didn't hurt. It was supposed to, wasn't it?"

"Well—yes, I hear it usually does. It didn't?"

She shook her head in denial, and his expression turned thoughtful. "Are you active?"

"Active? As in, physical activity?"

"Yes."

"A bit, I suppose. I go chocobo riding rather often, and I took dance lessons all throughout my childhood. Why?"

"Perhaps that's why. Either way, I consider us lucky, then," he noted with a grin.

She mirrored his expression before raising an eyebrow. "Is it...Are you supposed to do something? Is this it?"

He threw his head back and let out a throaty laugh, and she marveled at the way his face seemed years younger when he did so. In her opinion, he should take his own advice and smile more. He almost seemed like a different man entirely. His laughter also caused him to shift inside of her, and she was taken aback by the slight flutter of pleasure that coursed through her.

"No, this isn't it. I take it you're ready, then?"

"I think so," she replied with a smile.

Again, he leaned down and planted a kiss on her lips. "Very well, then. Whatever my wife commands."

To her surprise, he moved back, pulling himself out until only the tip rested in her. Without any further preamble, he snapped his hips forward, and the sensation of being filled so completely, so quickly, elicited a loud moan of desire from her. He planted his arms beside her head and leaned down, licking her neck so faintly, she was almost sure she'd imagined it. The combination of the featherlight caress of his tongue and the overwhelming feeling of him driving into her core made her lightheaded in the best possible way.

Quistis couldn't count how many times she moaned, overtaken by carnal pleasure. When Seifer answered her moans with his own guttural groans in her ear, she tightened her arms around his wide frame, feeling like she couldn't possibly get any closer to him. It felt like she was drowning in his presence, in the way he was making her feel.

His spicy, masculine scent filled her nostrils and she threw her head back onto the pillow. He traced kisses along her neck before capturing her lips in another blazing kiss. The motions of his tongue matched the rhythm of his hips, and she fought to remain grounded, like he'd told her to do earlier.

It felt like a lifetime later that the now-familiar coil of tension formed in her lower abdomen, and she curled her fingers in response. Her nails dug into Seifer's back, and he lifted his head to gaze into her eyes.

Never once did he let up as he stared into her soul; his hips continued to drive into her, and she raked her nails down his back as the tension built.

"Seifer, I…"

When she trailed off, he kissed her again before whispering, "I know."

"How can you—"

He interrupted her by placing a kiss along the edge of her jaw. When he spoke next, his voice was strained, as if it took every fiber of his being to speak while he was fighting to ensure that his actions weren't rough. "I can feel it. You're quivering around me."

"Oh," she breathed, and he chuckled as he cupped her cheek.

"Oh, indeed. Promise me you won't hold back?" he asked, sliding one of his hands between their bodies.

"I promise," she replied, staring up into his vivid, breathtaking eyes.

He quickened his motions, and the change in pace caught her off guard. It felt like the pleasure increased tenfold, and when she felt his fingers graze her clit, it was the catalyst to the pressure building inside of her. The taut string snapped with such force that she thought she might break in two, and the edges of her vision faded as she cried out Seifer's name.

She was so far gone in her own pleasure, that she didn't hear his responding cry. She did, however, feel him grabbing her hips so tightly, it was any wonder that it didn't hurt. It felt as if he was filling her even more than before, and when she came back down from her high, his head had fallen forward and he was resting his forehead on her chest.

Lazily, she ran her fingers through his hair, listening to his breaths come in slower, longer drags than before. Eventually, he lifted his head and looked into her eyes with a relaxed smile.

"Well," he stated.

A laugh escaped her, and she echoed, "Well. Is it always like _that_?"

He pulled out of her, leaving her feeling oddly empty in both the figurative and literal sense, before rolling over and flopping down onto the bed beside her. "I can't speak for the fairer sex, but I do what I can to _try_ and make it that way, yes."

She hummed in response, rolling onto her side to rest her hand on his chest. He didn't respond, and simply placed his hand over hers. The warmth from his skin seeped into her own, and the comfort of his presence, along with feeling unfamiliarly satisfied in a way she hadn't known she'd been missing, had her feeling rather drowsy.

Her eyelids must've started fluttering shut, because he laughed and quietly said, "You can sleep. I'll be here when you wake."

"Oh good," she mumbled incoherently, letting her eyes remain shut.

The sound of his rich, throaty laugh was the last thing she remembered hearing before the insistent waves of sleep pulled her under, and the world fell away.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to Strings805 and StarryNight101 for beta-reading for me!
> 
> In addition to that, thank you to everyone who reads and leaves comments! It keeps me going, knowing that people are still invested in reading this silly blurb of mine. I hope this chapter was worth the wait!
> 
> Lastly, per romance novel form, the two of them will be happy for what seems like forever. Until a shocking reveal (*dramatic gasp*) sets them at odds and Seifer will have to prove to Quistis that he truly does love her! It begins... >)
> 
> Until next time!


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